


MCYT oneshots.

by Anonymous



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ADHD, Adoption, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear of Abandonment, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, LGBT Character, Meltdown, Nightmares, Only chapter ten is inspired by something but I didn't want to post it solo, Panic Attacks, Philza adopts too many bloody children, Potatoes, Sensory Overload, Sickfic, Sickness, Sleep Deprivation, Social Anxiety, Stimming, Technoblade has ADHD, Touch-Starved, eret needs a hug, technoblade needs a hug, why tf is ren the only one without a real tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: MCYT oneshots! I am taking requests but pls nothing romantic/smutty. Enjoy.Chapter one: Techno Sleep DeprivationChapter two: In which Tommy and Wilbur don't just ignore Eret's offer of sanctuary after the election.Chapter three: Techno Social Anxiety/MeltdownChapter Four: Adopted-by-Phil Wilbur takes care of his younger foster brother Techno.Chapter Five: Bad takes care of a sick Skeppy
Relationships: Just Family Shit - Relationship, None, Sleep Bois Inc
Comments: 125
Kudos: 1322
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Sleep Deprivation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Welcome to the Panic Room](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28004934) by [mayflowers07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayflowers07/pseuds/mayflowers07). 



> Technoblade has been farming potatoes, chickens, and cows for fourteen hours. He's been awake for much longer than that. His friends seem to think that's a problem.

Techno wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been playing. He was vaguely aware of how hard he’d been hyperfocusing, only aware of the screen in front of his eyes and the keys under his fingertips, but he had no idea that it was morning until the sound of another person joining the server met his ears.

“Good morning Technoblade” “Hallo” Wilbur sounds upbeat, a far cry from how dead he’d sounded before he went to bed. “I’m over losing Manburg.” That seems unlikely, but it is good to hear his friend not sounding very very sad. “I’m gonna be happy while revolting” “That’s the best type of revolt.” Wilbur snickers in agreement. 

He’s a little excited to show Wilbur the farm; he’s been working very hard on it and it’s actually gotten very big considering how few potatoes he had to start with. The sound of the cows just reaches his ears and he grimaces and turns down the volume again because fuck those cows. Books were good, cows were annoying as fuck.

He realizes, a moment after his mouth closes, that he _probably_ should’ve lied, but eh, Wilbur can just look at Discord and see it if he really wanted to. “I haven’t logged off.” Wilbur pauses and the sound of his brain working is almost audible before he speaks up again and tries to act like he’s not concerned.

It gets very hard to not sound concerned as Techno continues to sound beyond exhausted. “Techno, how long have you been awake?” Techno sounds about ready to pass out as he takes several long moments to respond. “I…don’t...remember the last time I slept.” 

They both get distracted for a bit with Tubbo and the...not-going-to-be-mentioned incident with the arrows and Tubbo, but by the ninety-minute mark of his stream Techno is sounding about as tired as Wilbur has ever heard him and he’s still bloody farming which is a little concerning; how good _is_ Techno at working through tiredness? He doesn’t super want to ask. 

It was pretty clear that Techno was tired when he literally ran into the middle of the enemy town and started trying to shoot someone very far up on a flag. It wasn’t wildly successful but at least he didn’t literally die, so...success? He managed to avoid Tommy murdering everyone and made a note to talk to him later because he sounded _very_ pissed before turning his attention to the 72nd issue of the day. 

“Technoblade?” “Wilbur” “My stream is off now” “I heard.” Wilbur leans back in his chair, massaging his temples. “Dude, go to bed before I sick Phil and Tommy on you.” Techno gives a dry laugh. “Weren’t you just havin’ a conversation that was centered on your sleep schedule bein’ shit?” “Yes, but I _do_ sleep.” 

Techno gave a non-committal hum and continued to plant new potatoes. “...Technoblade, go to bed or I am going to sick Philza on you.” he gives a dry snicker, leaning back in his chair suddenly aware of how uncomfortable he was. “If it was that easy to fall asleep, Wilbur, you’d do it more.” 

Wilbur didn’t really have a way to disagree with that but he tags Phil to join and a moment later his voice filters in. “Hey there boys, what’s up?” “Techno has been on the SMP for 16 hours and he won’t go the fuck to sleep.” Techno mutters something under his breath as Phil immediately switches to what they all call his concerned parent voice. “Tech? Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Can’t.” He grunts, slowly shifting so his head is leaning back and he’s staring up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against his leg. There’s a nervous energy pinching under his skin, leaving him shaky and nervous as he switches discord to his phone and stands up to move around the room, legs groaning in protest at the sudden movement. 

“Tech, you need sleep.” he groans, leaning against the wall glaring down at his phone like it’s the machine’s fault. “Don’t make me come over there and lecture you on taking care of yourself, pig man.” He gives a dry laugh, leaning his forehead against the wall and biting down several comments that weren’t sarcastic enough for him. 

Phil’s voice softens slightly, and Techno’s glaring increases in exhausted ferocity even though Phil can’t see it. “Techno. What’s wrong man? What do you need?” He sighs, leaning against the wall with a low groan as his head gives another stab and he shifts on his heels despite the stab of pain it brings to his very sore legs.

“Techno?” Phil’s voice spikes a little in concern. “Tech, can you let me know that you’re alive over there please?” He gives a tired groan but reaches for the phone he’d left on the bed. “M’ brain won’ shut off” he hums, stretching out his legs as best he can while still standing. He feels almost fragile, arms wrapped tightly around himself in a careful facsimile of a hug. 

“Can we do anything?” Phil questions aloud, Wilbur apparently deciding that Phil was more qualified for this which...yeah. Techno sighs, slowly stumbling back to his chair. “I...I don’t...I’m sorry” He leans his forehead against his desk with a groan, brain foggy. There’s silence for a moment before Phil speaks up again, voice comfortingly firm. “Ok, Tech?” 

“Mmmhm?” He was vaguely aware of Tommy’s voice piping up and a “SHH” from Wilbur that grated on his exposed nerves but Phil was still speaking so he tried to focus before realizing he’d missed everything the man had said and silently cursing his _stupid_ fucking brain. “Tech? You get that?” He must’ve made a sound because Phil speaks up again. 

“Ok, I want you to stand up ok?” He instinctively gathers his legs under himself and struggles back to his feet, hands shaking a little and picking the phone up with one hand. “Go get some water, ok?” He nods, stepping slowly into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water, quickly realizing how hungry he was and downing two and a half of them. 

“I’m gonna assume you haven’t eaten?” That doesn’t wildly seem like something that needs an answer and by the time he’s hauled his brain through sludge enough to make the words make sense, Phil seems to have guessed that that meant no. “What’s your favorite food, Tech?” “Uhhhh” he blinks, taking a moment to try and sort through his thoughts but it feels like he’s swimming in jelly and he gives a quiet noise of relief when Tommy gives a much quieter than usual “oh! I know this!”

Phil seems vaguely surprised; it’s not that Tommy wasn’t someone who cared about what they liked; it was more that his memory of such things rivaled Techno’s in how horrifically awful it was. “You were telling me last month that it was pasta with olive oil and parmesan from that restaurant on your street!” “Uh huh, ordering, thanks kid” Wilbur speaks up and Techno blinks, taking what feels like several minutes to give a “uhh sorry, what?” 

“Your food should be there in like five minutes. I put contactless delivery so no socializing. Positive of the pandemic.” “...you ordered me food?” “Yup!” “...why?” “Because I’m pretty sure if you cook you’re gonna burn the apartment down at this point man.” He doesn’t _disagree_ though and ten minutes later there’s a knock and when he finally hauls himself over to the door he finds _food._

Phil is still rambling in the background about...something. Hardcore maybe? Tommy chimes in, eagerly, so probably MCC not hardcore unless Tommy had developed a new hobby in the last two days. He finished wolfing down the pasta, more than a little weary as the exhaustion of...he still wasn’t sure how many days up.  
  


“Techno?” He hauls his eyes back to the phone and gives a groan. “Mmm?” “Just making sure you were alive over there man. Is there anything else we can do?” He shrugs which isn’t wildly helpful when he’s not on video chat but Phil blessedly seems to get what he was going for. “Tech, lay down kid.” He gives a shaky nod, wandering his way over to his bed, curling up around the stupid stuffed creeper that Tommy had sent him as a gift for...Christmas? Or his Birthday? Stream anniversary? Something important.

“You asleep?” “No” Phil gave a concerned chucklee and he could just about imagine him leaning back in his chair. Wilbur and Tommy had fallen silent until Tommy blurted out “Willlllbur sing a lullaby.” They all fell silent for a minute, before Wilbur gave a little laugh. “Sure, I can get my guitar, and I’m not even in the bath this time.” Phil and Tommy are both quiet and Wilbur is reminded that he maybe hadn’t told them that story...time to redirect the focus to Techno because this was about to turn into lecturing him. 

Techno curled up a little, unable to find a still position that felt reasonable in any way. Wilbur had gone silent for a moment and while he’d thought it was just a desperation to not answer Phil’s “I’m sorry, why the fuck did you have your guitar in the bath?” but a moment later the familiar sound of Wilbur’s guitar fills the chat and Phil and Tommy both fall quiet. 

He’s playing something soft, and Techno doesn’t have to focus on the words to know that Wilbur is _actually_ playing something close to a damn lullaby. He doesn’t really have it in him to actually ask why the fuck Wilbur _knows_ a lullaby, so he just kinda goes with it, burying his head in his pillow with a content sigh. He lets the music soothe the tenser edges of his brain, shifting a little to get more of his body touching his rough blanket in an effort to actually be able to lay still.

Despite it all he didn’t think he’d actually manage to sleep; he’s used to spending hours laying in bed unable to sleep. But the ridiculous fucking creeper plush is soft and Wilbur really is a good singer and Phil is telling Tommy off for...something in the background and it feels safe. 

He wakes up seventeen hours later. He props himself up against the wall, flexing his wrists and hands out before glancing down at his phone and giving an amused snort when he sees the voice chat hadn’t ended; he could hear Wilbur singing to himself as he set up his setup. “Mornin’ man.” Wilbur quiets and Techno can almost hear him blushing and he gives a sharp snicker. “Good morning Technoblade!”  
  
“Are you about to stream?” “Yeah! I’ve got to take our country back. Or, more likely, kill cows for two hours.” Techno snickers, standing and heading for his setup. “Alright I’ll be on in twenty, cow killing is something I can get behind.” He switches his audio back to his computer and settles down in his chair, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. 

“...Wilbur?” “Yeah Techno?” “Thanks.” “No problem man, anytime. But if you let yourself get in that state again I think Phil is going to go over to your place and force you to sleep.” They both snicker at the prospect as Wilbur starts his stream and Techno heads over to the cow farm to do some more cow murder.


	2. Eret's Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if, when Eret offered Tommy and Wilbur sanctuary, they said yes?

Eret was watching the election. Not from  _ in  _ the city, since he definitely wasn’t allowed there since the whole...betrayal incident, rather reasonable in his eyes even though he regretted that decision, but from up his tower, at the edge of his own land where he  _ was  _ allowed, thankfully.

He very much had expected Wilbur to win. Wilbur was a good man and he knew it, and as he sat watching he ignored the sharp pang in his chest at the idea that he could’ve been there, with them, instead of...here. Surrounded by people who at best ignored him and at worst ridiculed him.

He didn’t expect what was going to happen though to be fair, he was pretty sure that no one expected what happened. Schlatt’s voice was loud enough to reach him, sharp and angry and  _ cruel,  _ and he couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. “What...he threw them out? Can he DO that?” He wonders aloud, though it’s not like Schlatt is likely to follow rules anyway. He slowly hauled himself a little higher up before realizing he couldn’t see them.

“Fuck fuck fuck” Eret rushed down his tower, feeling incredibly conflicted. “Do I help?” he wonders aloud, pacing on the soft grass. He  _ knew  _ instinctively that Dream wouldn’t be happy, even if this land was his land Dream could probably revoke his title with one sentence. 

But it was  _ Wilbur and Tommy,  _ and who knew who else. There was a time where they’d been his family, where he hadn’t felt so painfully lonely every moment of the day. They were...somewhere in that direction, alone and being chased and he knew he’d hate himself every day if he didn’t go and help them so he grabbed his sword, scrambled onto his horse, and ran.

He’d never been the best at forest navigation but he knew that they’d be running away and so he went for a brilliant strategy he called “Shout TOMMY. WILBUR. As loud as he could until someone answered. It was a great plan. Totally no flaws. He quit the plan almost immediately though since he didn’t want Schlatt and his group to hear and just kept running, kept praying he’d find them first.

It was pure luck. He hit a clearing maybe half a mile from L’Manberg, looked to the right, and  _ saw them.  _

Relief, followed by panic, filled his chest because Tommy was dragging a Wilbur who looked barely conscious, blood soaking that beautiful revolutionary outfit he’d worked so hard on. What was even sadder was the way Tommy pulled his sword, eyes cold and vicious and brokenly afraid. Eret threw both hands up, glad his well-behaved horse skidded to a stop. 

“Tommy. Listen to me, please.” He knew he was begging, but he couldn’t watch them die, not like this, not today. Tommy kept his sword up but didn’t stab as he kept talking. “I. I believe I could provide you sanctuary” Tommy snarls, looking furious. “Why the FUCK should we trust you you fucker?” “You shouldn’t.” Tommy pauses.

“I know I betrayed you. I’m. I’m sorry. But Wilbur is bleeding out and they’re coming, you know they are, you’re smart. I am your only choice.”

He hates the fact that Eret is 100% right. Wilbur is so heavy and he can’t really haul him and there’s too much blood and they’re being chased. Dream’s section of land might be the only place the L’Manberg chasers wouldn’t be able to go to get them so he nods, hating himself for having to do it. “Ok. I don’t fucking trust you you fucker but...ok.” 

Eret jumps down, boosting Wilbur up onto the horse. “Tommy, can you keep up if we trot?” He gives a sharp nod, grabbing the saddlebag to keep pace. Eret can hear Tommy panting and almost offers to run but he knows how to get back, and he’s definitely less in shape than the 16 year old so he kicks Freddy, his horse, into a trot and they run.

By the time they duck through his gates, which he immediately closes and locks because he’d rather deal with Dream bitching than L’Manberg invading, Tommy is gasping. “Come on, inside, take the horse please.” He grabs Wilbur, feeling the other man’s breath rattling in his chest. Tommy, to his credit, doesn’t argue; the four, including the horse, are inside within seconds and the door is shut. 

“Ok, we need to get some potions in him now.” Tommy looks around like he expects someone to jump out and kill them as Eret half carries, half drags Wilbur into his bathroom, laying him down on the floor and immediately feeding two of his three potions to the bleeding man. Tommy dropped down across from him, practically growling at him. “Get the fuck out of here we don’t need you.” Eret slowly set down the medical kit, turned, and walked away.

He went to cool Freddy down properly, getting his saddle off and securing him in his very, very hidden stall, because he still lived near fucking Sapnap, before going to his room, curling up in bed, and shivering. He didn’t get up, not until he heard Tommy give a tired, frustrated “ERET GET IN HERE YOU FUCKER”

Tommy was crouched down by Wilbur. He glared as soon as Eret came in. “I can’t carry him.” he mutters and Eret nods. “I...can I?” Tommy slowly backs up, lets Eret pick Wilbur up very gently and bringing him to his own bed, retreating out of the room as soon as he was down. Tommy curled up nearby, watching his brother breathe.

A few hours later, Tommy slipped out to get some food and Eret couldn’t stop himself. He stepped slowly into the room, curling up in a chair near the bed, biting back tears. He couldn’t find the words to apologize, sitting there hunched in on himself letting the sight of Wilbur, pale but  _ alive,  _ reassuring.

Tommy stepped back into the room and found Eret _the traitor_ in his brother’s room. He stalked across the room, grabbing Eret’s shirt and shoving him into the wall. Eret flinched hard but if Tommy cared more he would’ve seen how dull the other man’s eyes were, felt how _thin_ he was under his hands, but he didn’t. “Get the FUCK out of here I don’t give a shit if you’re a kid I’ll break your goddamn face” Eret takes a step back, trembling a little as he gives one more look over his shoulder at Wilbur before stepping out of the room.

Eight hours after they arrived there was a knock at his door. He approached, opening it, crown on his head and looking him in the eyes. “Dream.” “Eret” Dream has a growl in his voice and Eret bites his lip but stands strong. “Did you need something?”   
  
“I heard a rumor you had some _visitors.”_ Eret shakes his head, prays to whatever god he doesn’t really think that he believes in anymore that Tommy isn’t going to look into this room, that the kid has enough of a brain to stay back for a _moment._ “No sir, no guests here, unless my horse counts.” Dream laughs but it’s a harsh sound. “Oh, well that’s interesting I would’ve sworn I saw more than just you before.” “What do you want.” “A stack of diamonds, in two days, or someone might let it _slip_ to Schlatt that he knows where they are.

Eret made himself invisible, effectively, for the next two days. He stayed as far away as he could, even when he could hear that Wilbur was doing better with the healing potions he replaced in the chest from his nether wart and watermelon farm in the basement. He worked eighteen hour days in the mines, until his hands bled and he couldn’t breathe and he still knew he would never get nearly enough. 

Fifty hours or so after they arrived, there was a knock at the door. He slowly walked over to the door, head up, knowing it wasn’t going to be good. He opened the door and found himself face to face with Dream’s mask. “Eret” “Dream.” “You seem to have forgotten you owe me something.” Eret cursed silently, because he had hoped Dream would forget. He didn’t dare move, he knew by now how this went and so he did not flinch when Dream raised his hand and Sapnap punched him square in the face, knocking him to the floor and giving a few hard kicks to his chest. “Twice the diamonds in two days sounds reasonable,  _ King,  _ or L’Manberg might be getting a very interesting call, hm _?”  _ Eret forces himself to breathe, giving a nod. “Two days.”

He didn’t realize Tommy was there until, as soon as Dream was outside of the gates, Tommy was at his side. “Eret?” Eret flinched away, hard, and Tommy put both hands up, eyes wide and a little horrified even though Eret didn’t understand why. “W...wha’ ?” he groaned, spitting out a little blood and shakily propping himself up, arms shaking. “What...but you’re on their side! Why would they hurt you?” The teenager demanded.

Eret gave a  _ harsh cruel miserable  _ laugh. “No one but them are on their side, Tommy boy. But it’s fine, I know you’re enjoying this but can I please go lay down now, or do you want to finish the job?” It comes out more brokenly than he means it to and Tommy just...stared at him. “But...they hurt you!” Tommy’s eyes are wide with genuine concern and Eret feels himself start to shake a little, so painfully unused to anyone even being near him much less looking at him like they  _ cared _ “P...please?” he whispers, not even sure if he’s asking Tommy to care or not care at this point.

“Why do you owe him diamonds?” Eret blinks back the tears, tries to focus. “He. saw us. You. The other day. He knows. An’ he’ll tell them, Schlatt, if I don’t. Give them to him.” Tommy blinks in complete confusion at him. “You...you’re giving him things? To protect us?” “I owe you. So much. I...I get why you don’t. Trust me anymore. And why you hate me. But you’re, you’re  _ good  _ and I’m just. Bad. you deserve better than this even if I don’t.” 

Eret hauls himself up, stubbornly not looking at Tommy, but it’s a poor decision as he immediately feels his head spin and his knees buckle. He knows he’s going to hit the floor, and it’s going to hurt, but then there are long arms around him holding him up and he’s  _ not falling.  _ Tommy has him, tugs him tight to his chest eyes wide and  _ worried  _ and Eret breaks.

It’s been months since anyone has touched him, much less hugged him, and he can’t keep himself from shattering as Tommy’s arms close around him and hold him tightly. He knows the younger blond is speaking, knows he should care what he’s saying, but he can’t hear it over his own sobs, clinging to the teenager with everything he has which isn’t much.

Tommy feels like just about the worst person alive. Sure, he understands why he was angry at Eret, and that it was reasonable, but it’s hard not to feel awful when the man just let himself get the crap kicked out of him trying to protect them after risking everything by bringing them here. It doesn’t help that Eret feels  _ frail  _ in his arms; Tommy can feel his ribs even through his coat and Eret just keeps  _ crying,  _ keeps trembling in his arms pulling in gasping breaths and Tommy does what Wilbur always does when he’s upset, he just holds the man close and lets him cry.

He wishes Wilbur was awake. He’d never been good at emotions but even he knew that they’d fucked up, well, he had Wilbur hadn’t been awake. He just kind of stood there rambling about ducks until Eret stopped completely shaking himself apart. Tommy moved slightly,m trying to step back to look at the man.

Eret let go at once but Tommy could see the way his hands flexed towards him, clearly craving being near another person, and he thought about Eret here alone, for months, with his only company being those dicks. The thought made him vaguely ill. “C’mon, Eret.” He kept his voice low, like Tubbo had when he was trying to coax skittish dogs to trust him.  _ “You’ve gotta be nice to scared animals, Tommy!”  _ Tubbo had said.  _ “Cause, they think you’ll hurt them even if you haven’t cause others have.”  _

Eret just sort of stared at him and so Tommy sighed, offering out a hand. “You’re covered in blood man, c’mon let me help.” Eret just blinked at him, looking so genuinely lost that Tommy grabbed his hand and dragged him into the bathroom after him. Eret blinked sluggishly; he understood what was happening. Tommy was going to betray him as he had them, was going to  _ hurt  _ him probably, but he was so desperate for scraps of affection that he didn’t care.

Tommy was  _ worried  _ as he gently nudged Eret to sit, grabbing a wet cloth and starting to wash the blood off of his face. “I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt” he warns as he dabs it near the other man’s nose and watches him flinch a little in pain, before giving a soft “Tommy?” “Yeah man?” Tommy pauses to look Eret in the eyes, but the other man refuses to look at his. “J...just do it already, OK? I won’ fight back just...just fucking do it?” He almost begs.

Tommy has actually got no idea what the fuck Eret is telling him to do and says so. “The fuck do you think I’m going to do to you dude? I’m not fucking Dream I’m not gonna hurt you what the fuck?” Eret flinches a little, tries to curl smaller but he can’t without a sharp hiss of pain and so he gives up before speaking carefully. “I...I thought you were. Trying to...show me what it felt like to...be betrayed by someone who was meant to be helping you.”

Tommy grimaces. “Dude, was I fucking pissed at you, yes. But…” he sighs, looking down at the other man who looks so deeply hurt that he can’t feel anything but a surge of protectiveness towards him. “I don’t...trust you fully yet, man, and I can’t speak for Wilbur, but I forgive you Eret. For everything.” 

It is precisely the right, and wrong, thing to say apparently because Eret starts to shake again, a look of such deep confusion on his face that Tommy makes a note to pummel Dream into the ground next time he sees him as he goes back to washing the blood off of Eret, and himself before trying to figure out what the hell to do.

He didn’t know how to fix it, how to help Wilbur be ok, how to get enough diamonds that Dream wouldn’t come back and  _ stab  _ Eret, how to get his home back. The only issue that was at all fixable in this moment was Eret, kneeling before him shaking like a puppy left out in a storm. “Ok, c’mon man. You need sleep.” Tommy declares, because he has really no better ideas. 

Eret trailed slowly behind him as Tommy considered where the fuck the man slept before realizing that Wilbur was definitely in Eret’s bed and Eret’s house was.very, very empty considering how big it was. “Ok, c’mon dude.” he tugs Eret towards the couch, a little concerned that if he shoved Eret off a cliff at the moment the guy would probably let him do it. 

He sits, flops more like it, stretching out. Eret watches him in confusion before he hauls him down so Eret is half flopped over his legs. “I…I didn’t want you to wake up and panic because you thought you were alone.” His voice is careful. “Plus you’re like, touch starved as fuck, an’ you’re my friend. Go the hell to sleep.” Eret curls up a little, but he’s asleep before Tommy has the time to regret this decision because now he can’t get up.

Wilbur hauls himself out of bed. He’s still very, very sore, but he’s healed enough to get around and he wants some water so he wanders out into the main room, blinking at the scene before him. Tommy is on the couch, eyes half closed, though he’s clearly still awake since he glances up as soon as Wilbur comes in. That isn’t surprising. What is surprising is that Eret is curled up on the couch too, head in Tommy’s lap, black eye and badly bruised face very visible from where Wilbur was.

“...do I wanna know?” Wilbur questions, sitting down near his younger brother. “Do you want to go stab Dream immediately?” “...no?” “Then probably not.” Wilbur gave a soft laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch. “...tell me?” Tommy did, voice shaking a little with  _ rage  _ as he described how Eret had been so aware of what was going to happen that he didn’t even flinch; he just stood there and took it. 

“Do you think we were wrong?” “What. not trusting him? Fuck no, he literally betrayed us.” Wilbur shrugs. “But...we need friends, right now. And he’s risking a lot to keep us safe here, it sounds like.” He left it at that, leaning his head against the couch again and closing his eyes waiting for what the next day would bring. 


	3. Family Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by Mablelaylee; Socially Awkward Technoblade!

Technoblade was chilling on his computer, playing some 1 v 1s just to enjoy winning at something for a few minutes. The ringtone coming through his headphones from discord wasn’t surprising; Wilbur and Tommy both had a habit of calling him semi-regularly, but when he glanced at Discord he saw that all 3 of Tommy, Wilbur, and Phil were in a call together and that piqued his interest enough to answer.

“AY TECHNO!” Tommy’s delighted voice made him grimace a little at the volume but he gave his signature “Hallo.” Wilbur and Phil had been discussing something but fell silent for a moment before Tommy’s eager voice started again. “Techno, guess what!” “...What?” 

Tommy gave a sharp giggle. “Me and Phil and Wilbur are gonna meet up again!” His voice is bright and eager and Techno tries to ignore the uncomfortable pang of  _ they don’t want you there  _ in his chest. “Oh?” He wonders if a little of the hurt filters through his monotone voice because Phil pipes up “Yeah it’s, we all live pretty close to each other y’know? So we figured we might as well.”

“Have fun?” He offers, feeling painfully unsure what the everloving fuck he’s supposed to say here. Phil makes a sound that he can’t quite recognize and then Wilbur speaks up again, voice full of fond exasperation, which to be fair is Wilbur’s usual tone. “We know it’d be...a bit of a trek for you so I get it if you can’t but...d’you wanna come too.” 

He blinks, unable to stop himself to consider before he’s already saying yes. Tommy woops in delight, giving a loud “FUCK YEAH.” That hurts his ears but still makes him grin a little despite himself, leaning back in his chair to listen to Wilbur and Tommy’s delighted conversation, Phil occasionally interjecting with comments. 

He had no idea why he’d agreed to this. The airport was  _ so loud,  _ people pressing in from every direction and leaving him feeling more than a little overwhelmed. The sheer quantity of people who you had to talk to to get through security and such for an international flight was absurd and by the time he sank down to his seat an hour and a half early near his gate, he was vaguely aware that he was twitchy as fuck.

The twitchiness died down slightly as he pulled headphones on and tried to relax listening to Wilbur’s stream to muffle out the volume of the area around him. Wilbur was talking to Phil, discussing them meeting up and after a bit Tommy joined to do the same and Techno forced down the intense awkwardness in his chest that said that they didn’t  _ want him there _ .

If they wanted to meet up again they were coming to America, Techno had decided. The plane flight was actually hell; being unable to move and forced to remain still for that duration of time had him twitchy and uncomfortable and the dull prickling under his skin hadn’t died down yet. He knew he was a massive introvert; he was socially awkward enough that having to be around people for hours was leaving him deeply, deeply uncomfortable. 

He fumbled with his phone, pressing it to his ear and listening to it ring as he searched the crowd for Wilbur. _ They aren’t gonna like you, they didn’t want you here they just felt bad.”  _ His brain insisted and he bit his lip, doing his best to ignore the painful feeling in his chest. 

Brushing past the people is agony on his frayed nerves, every touch reminding him of just how touch starved he was, of how desperately he was craving someone caring. He scans the crowd again, desperate to get away from the many, many people in the airport even if his brain kept insisting that  _ you’re going to be too weird for them, they’re not going to like you, they’re going to regret even inviting you and then you’ll go home and be alone again and you won’t even have your friends. _

Wilbur didn’t pick up so he wandered to baggage claim, finding his suitcase before turning to try and figure out where on earth Wilbur was. He scanned the relative sea of people, grimacing a little at the idea of trying to maneuver through all of them before his eyes landed on a particular tall british man and he felt himself relax a little in sheer relief. 

“Techno!” Wilbur grinned delightedly as his friend approached. Techno gave an awkward little wave but Wilbur just grinned and pulled him into a hug. Techno froze, flinching away hard, and Wilbur let go at once. “Sorry big guy, my bad, glad you’re here! Phil went to pick up Tommy, but they should be getting back soon. Here, let me grab your bag.” He doesn’t wait for a response, really, before turning and leading him out towards the car.

_ See. He wants us here.  _ Techno thinks silently, vaguely aware that he was getting twitchier and twitchier the more people he had to ease past on the way to the car. He was exhausted and the idea of sitting still in a car was nearly too much; he needed to  _ move,  _ the sheer act of sitting relatively motionless on a plane for like eleven hours had left his ADHD running wild and he needed to feel something other than confinement.

So of course, he immediately got into a car for an hour-long ride. His fingers taped up and down his legs, the most noticeable stimming he was willing to do with Wilbur in the car. He leaned his head against the window, grateful that Wilbur didn’t seem to be one for talking in the car because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have heard a word the older man was saying.

They got to Phil’s place just before Phil and Tommy, according to Wilbur. Techno only remembered as he reached the steps that he was going to have to socialize with Kristen who, though she always seemed very nice, he didn’t actually  _ know  _ at all. Wilbur was already up the steps by the time Techno remembered this, eyes bright. “C’mon Tech!” He ducked inside and left techno no choice but to follow, wandering slowly into the house. It wasn’t huge but it was homely in a way that made him ache a little when he remembered his  _ cold sterile lonely  _ apartment. 

“Hi there” Kristen speaks up from the living room, coming over to smile at the two standing sort of awkwardly in the doorway. “Hey! It’s super nice to like, properly meet you” Wilbur grins. Techno shuffles a little on his feet, struggling to find the words before managing a careful “Hello, painfully aware of how awkward he must’ve looked.” “C’mon Techno, we’re this way.” Wilbur leads the way into a cozy guest room, dropping his stuff on the bed tucked against the left wall, leaving Techno the one against the right.

Techno wanted nothing more than to sleep for twelve hours but Wilbur didn’t even let him lay down, saying something about jet lag being worse if he slept in the middle of the day. He groaned, leaning his head against his knees for long enough to take a few careful breaths. “You good man?” He nods, aware that he’s till twitchy as all hell, hands giving a few twists against his legs. “I’m fine.” 

They both hear Tommy and Phil’s arrival, Tommy giving a loud shout. Wilbur gives a laugh but it’s tinged with affection for the boy who is basically his younger brother as he steps out into the living room, Techno trailing behind him. Tommy barely finishes saying hello before he’s pulling them both into a hug, Techno flounders, gives a pained little noise as he jerks away in surprise even as his brain is begging for more, and Tommy immediately withdraws. Phil gives a sharp laugh of amusement as he watches the relative chaos that has invaded his home for the week.

They mostly just chill for the first day. Techno lasts until four PM before he falls asleep on the couch, and so they wrap a blanket around him and turn the TV down slightly and just let him sleep. He looks smaller, asleep, paler, twitchy and uncomfortable looking even asleep. “He doesn’t take good enough care of himself.” Phil grumbles, but there’s only concern, no malice, in his words. 

They wake up to smoke alarms and Wilbur scraping burnt pancakes into the trash. Kristen bans him from the kitchen for the rest of the week and he just dramatically flops on the couch near Techno to whine about how he  _ totally  _ knows how to cook, he just got distracted.

The worst of the electricity under his skin has settled but he’s still nervous and twitchy, anxiety bubbling in his chest as he worries that he’s going to somehow do something to make one of his friends hate him just because they’re actually together now.

Once Phil is done airing out the kitchen he recruits Tommy to help him make bacon and pancakes, and this time the air remains blessedly smoke free. Wilbur was loudly sulking, and Techno bit back a snicker as Phil offered to help teach the younger man how to cook later. 

After breakfast, Tommy  _ begged  _ for them to go to a nearby arcade and the older men rolled their eyes affectionately at the younger man but none of them  _ didn’t  _ want to go and so they did. Well, that was a lie, but Techno didn’t  _ say  _ he didn’t want to go and so it was fine. Tommy and Wilbur competed in every single game that it was possible to compete on, bitching and yelling at each other all the while, not noticing Techno had his back to the wall and was getting shakier and shakier. 

Tommy and Wilbur split the cost of four nerf guns which...yeah, that wasn’t terribly surprising. Techno, who had about fifteen times the tickets they had after dominating a memory game, scanned the prize cabinet for a few moments, eyes settling on a large, plush jellyfish for a longing moment before he moved on, nearly choking with anxiety at the idea of actually talking to the cashier person to get anything. His eyes fall on one of the much higher ticket items, a weighted blanket, and the stab of longing in his chest increases to compete with the social anxiety that had him twitchy and nervous

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Tommy came up next to him and grabbed his arm. “Hey, Techno” “Yeah?” Tommy leaned against his side; if there was one thing that Techno had learned it was that as much as he was wary of being touched because he was touch starved Tommy was desperate for it, since he apparently considered them all his brothers. “Did you uh...I saw you lookin’” Tommy’s voice is more cautious than usual and that alone is enough to cause Techno to look at him. “Did you...want it?” He nods at the blanket.

“I can, I know you don’t like people, I like people.” It’s not really an explanation but Techno knows Tommy well enough to understand what he’s offering, and that saying Tommy  _ likes  _ people is definitely not wrong but saying he’s comfortable talking to people he doesn’t know would be so he’s not surprised when Tommy drags Wilbur over. “Techno wants you to get him that jellyfish stuffed animal an’ the blanket since he apparently got a bloody million tickets.” 

Techno opened his mouth to protest; he didn’t want Wilbur to feel obligated to help him, even if he was  _ tired  _ and twitchy and the idea of talking to people he didn’t know made him drag his nails along his arms nervously. Wilbur just grinned, grabbing the receipt that showed how many tickets he’d had before strolling over to the cashier. 

They left relatively soon after that because there was some kind of pastry shop that Phil was absolutely determined to show them. Tommy vlogged that bit, bouncing along between Techno and Wilbur with a grin of delight as he pestered them about what their favorite deserts were.

They wandered to the grocery store, after that, because Wilbur said he “Needed energy drinks or he would die” Wilbur and Tommy raced each other down the aisles, Phil a few steps behind, and Techno behind him, so Phil didn’t realize anything was wrong until he made a joke and Techno didn’t react. He half turned, looking over his shoulder, and he didn’t see Techno.

“Fucking hell, how did we lose a relatively tall guy with pink hair” Phil questions aloud. Wilbur and Tommy, of course further turning this into a competition, immediately go in two directions to find him and Phil, grumbling about overly competitive young men, wanders in another direction. 

Techno can’t breathe. He’d somehow ended up in the middle of a crowd of people, breath catching in his lungs, shaking like a leaf.  _ No no no no no they left you they don’t want you.  _ He stumbles nearly blindly to one side, throwing up an arm in front of his own face, tears in his eyes that he wouldn’t let fall because he was not weak, damnit, he wasn’t. 

It’s Wilbur who finds Technoblade first and he can  _ immediately  _ see that his friend isn’t ok. Techno’s managed to get his back to the wall but his eyes are full of tears and it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing as Wilbur reaches him, grabbing his hand and not letting go even as Techno flinches away. “C’mon Techno, let’s go this way ok?” His voice is gentle but the man starts to shake even harder as Wilbur tugs him towards a secluded corner.

He sinks to the ground, Wilbur crouching in front of him like a wall, pressing his phone to his ear. “Tommy, Phil, I got him, back right corner of the store.”

Techno can’t breathe. He’s pulling in desperate breaths, shaking apart, all the while his brain is screaming at him.  _ Of course they left, who’d want to be friends with a 19 year old who can’t even make it through a damn grocery trip without having a panic attack because he’s so overwhelmed.  _ He’s vaguely aware of someone speaking to him but that just increases his terror because  _ no no no no no he can’t deal with talking to a stranger not right now he can’t.  _

He doesn’t know how long he’s curled up in a ball before the sound of singing filters through. Something in him recognizes it as  _ Wilbur’s  _ singing, he’s heard it enough times, and despite the terror in his chest it eases something wild and frightened in him. He’s still shaking, harder now, tears filling his eyes but refusing to fall as he opens his eyes slightly, enough to see Wilbur crouched in front of him, taking up his whole view. He can just make out a blurry shape of Phil behind him but Wilbur is talking again, soft and gentle and he can’t make out the words but it doesn’t matter.

Wilbur doesn’t stop talking, not when Techno starts to shake harder, not when he can see the recognition creeping back into his friend’s face. He moves a little closer, reaches out to grab his friend’s hands, somewhat surprised when Techno doesn’t flinch away but instead leans into it. “Shhh, you’re ok Techno, you’re gonna be ok, deep breaths, we’re right here, we’re waiting as long as you need.” He promises, vaguely aware of Tommy and Phil behind him, Phil’s whispered reassurances that Techno would be ok. 

“Techno?” Wilbur questions, gently, relieved when his friend’s eyes flicker slowly up towards his face, breath catching. “Breathe, man, we’ve got you ok?” He runs his thumbs carefully over the insides of his wrists. “Techno?” Techno makes a low sound. “Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?”

Wilbur is apparently the strong one, or more accurately “I’m a weak fucking 16 year old and Phil is old as sin” according to Tommy, and so he stood slowly, pulling Techno up with him till he was all but carrying the other man, all four briskly exiting the store to Phil’s car.

Kristen watches a little worriedly as her husband and Wilbur all but carry Techno to the couch. The other man looks, to Wilbur, somewhat more there now, face flushed with embarrassment as his dark eyes focus on him. “M sorry” he mutters and Wilbur shakes his head, sits next to him. “Don’t be, man, nothin’ to be sorry for.” 

Techno is still trembling but now it’s more out of embarrassment than anything else. He feels raw and exposed, waiting skittishly for them to to realize he’s a fucking disaster and tell him to leave but they don’t. Wilbur flops onto the couch, puts his feet in Techno’s lap. “You feeling better?” Tommy questions, awkwardly creeping over to sit on the couch, too, looking...so genuinely concerned that Techno  _ needs  _ to reassure him so he nods.

“I’m ok kid” Techno mutters, closing his eyes, leaning his head back onto the couch. Tommy’s fingers cautiously come down to brush through his hair and Techno gives a low, pleased sound, letting his eyes fully close as he realizes just how exhausted he is. Wilbur is humming something Techno vaguely recognizes as one of his songs, something that Wilbur seems to do on a pretty regular basis, and it mixes with Phil and Kristen’s quiet speaking in the background to lull him to sleep. 


	4. Forgotten Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wilbur is a very good big brother.

He’s so  _ stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.  _ He bites back tears, a movement that  _ hurts  _ his throbbing face. His hands cling to his backpack as he stumbles towards Mister Phil’s house. Not home, never home, he didn’t have a home, never had a home. He knows this is going to be it, this is going to be the moment that the kind man with dark brown eyes who had acted like he’d cared for the last two weeks decided he was too much and  _ I was supposed to have another week. _

He forgets, for too long, that he won’t be home first today. He usually gets home twenty minutes before Wilbur, because Wilbur stays after class for a club or something, but Techno had been...delayed today and so when he stepped inside, planning to grab his things and get out before Phil could throw him out himself, he wasn’t alone.

“Hey kid” Wilbur called from his spot at the kitchen table, worksheets spread out before him. Techno froze like a deer in headlights, praying that Wilbur wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t see him, that he could just get through this room and get to the one he slept in to get his clothes and then be out of here no matter how badly leaving would hurt.

He was not lucky enough for that to happen. Wilbur glanced up, just to ask how his day was, really. His eyes caught the younger boy’s face, the blood staining it as it drips from his nose, the rapidly forming black eye, and his breath catches in his throat as he’s on his feet before he even has time to think. “What the fuck happened?” 

Techno shrinks back, tears gathering in his eyes, but Wilbur just sees red; he is going to end whoever thought it was ok to beat up on this small, frail teenager. “What the fuck happened?” He repeats, taking another step forward but freezing as the boy threw up his hands defensively with a sob of desperation. “No, no, please,” he whispers, hands visibly shaking.

“Techno?” Wilbur’s voice is softer, now, as the younger boy shivers in front of him, pressing his back to the wall as he clearly bites back tears. “Techno, talk to me kid, what’s wrong?” Techno’s eyes are wild with terror and Wilbur stills as it hits him that  _ he’s  _ scaring him. “I’m sorry.” Techno whispers as the tears start to fall, mixing with the blood running down his face. 

Wilbur reaches for his phone to call Phil but Techno  _ panics.  _ He howls, starting to shake like a leaf and Wilbur immediately drops his phone as Techno babbles “No, no, please, please don’ tell him please, I’ll go an’ I won’t come back I swear just don’t tell him.” He begs. 

Wilbur’s heart breaks as the boy gives another choked, whimpering cry. “Techno” He tries to speak softly, soothingly, but the boy just keeps shaking and Wilbur can see that he’s working himself into a panic attack, no longer listening to a word that Wilbur is saying. “Techno” he tries again but when the boy doesn’t respond, Wilbur starts to panic, too.

He does the only thing he can think of; he moves forward without thinking, drops to his knees, and pulls Techno into his arms. The boy reacts two very different ways simultaneously; he screams like he’s being murdered and he literally collapses into Wilbur’s arms. Wilbur almost drops him in surprise but he manages to not, which is good because he’d feel like the worst person ever, gathering the hysterically sobbing teenager into his arms even tighter.

Techno can’t breathe. Everything is burning and he’s shuttering and gasping and he wants to get away, wants to run and run and run but he  _ can’t,  _ and even though it feels like the grip around him is burning he presses as close as he can almost desperately, begging for the contact to continue even as he hates himself for it because it will stop and he will be alone again and it will hurt even worse now because he knows what it feels like.

Wilbur leans against the wall, pulls Techno in tight. He tucks the other teen’s head under his and just hugs him as tight as he can and just lets the younger boy cry and scream. He talks to him, certain the teen can’t hear but desperate to do something, anything, to make the clearly hurting boy feel better. 

It’s a long, long time before Techno calms. The teen slumps in his grip, still trembling, but Wilbur can tell he’s exhausted. “Hey kid.” He does his best to keep his voice gentle but his foster brother still flinches hard. “It’s ok.” Wilbur doesn’t let him go and Techno doesn’t even try to struggle. “I’ve got you, you’re safe man. You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Techno shutters a little, unconsciously pressing closer to Wilbur as he struggles for the words. He owes the other boy that much, before he goes. “I gotta 85 on my math test” he finally chokes out, waiting for something, a shout, a blow, but Wilbur  _ smiles.  _ “Good job, kid!” Techno shakes his head, hard, grimacing as it sends a spike of pain through his head. 

“Dude, 85 is good” Wilbur promises; he’d be super happy if he got an 85 on a test, but Techno looks  _ terrified.  _ “B...b...but ‘s n...n...n...not good ‘nough an’...”he cuts himself off, sharply, and Wilbur blinks down at him. “And what, kid?” Techno shakes his head, curling up smaller, but Wilbur is insistent, rocking slightly like he remembers Phil doing with him after a particularly bad nightmare, waiting patiently.

“T...the kid who s...s...sits behind me s...said if I di...didn’t l...let him copy my t...test he’d h...hurt me and…” Techno shutters, and Wilbur is surprised when the teen twists so his head is pressed into Wilbur’s chest again and clings, but Wilbur immediately tightens his grip. “It’s ok.” Wilbur breathes, easily able to fill in the gap as Techno starts to tremble even harder. 

  
Wilbur blinks as he thinks back to what Techno had said and his hands still slightly. “Techno?” “....yes?” “Why... why did you want to leave?” Techno stiffens and Wilbur considers letting him go but the other teen is still clinging, curled up small against him, and so he doesn’t. “I. I don’t w...want to” the smaller boy whispers, tears welling in his eyes again. “S...been al’ost three weeks. That’s when people. Give up. I d...didn’t wanna wait for him to throw me out when he saw I was in a fight.” 

Wilbur tightens his grip instinctively, wishing he could reach his phone to text Phil. “Tech.” He breathes, shifting slightly so he can sit more comfortably and grimacing as Techno whimpers and clings harder. “Shh, kid, I’m not putting you down until you want me to.” He promises, and for a moment he is a small, terrified ten year old again, standing outside Phil’s door too afraid to knock after a nightmare because what if Phil thought he was annoying and sent him back? 

He remembers hurtling himself into Phil’s arms that night, crying until he had no tears left before quietly telling Phil he’d be packed in the morning. Phil had held his son tight and promised him until his throat ached that he’d never send him back. Wilbur glanced back down at the smaller teen in his lap, once again wishing Phil would get home from work already.

“Techno?” “Y...yes?” “Listen to me, ok?” Techno shrinks back slightly but Wilbur keeps talking. “You don’t have to leave until you want to.” Techno opens his mouth to protest but Wilbur keeps talking. “You’re here for as long as you want, Techno, Phil would never make you leave. You’re not a piece of clothing we aren’t going to return you.” 

Techno is staring at him and Wilbur can see the moment that it sets in because Techno starts to sob again, not even bothering to try and hide it this time. Wilbur hugs him tightly, again, rocks them both, and just lets Techno cry until he has no more tears to shed. 

When Techno finally falls still Wilbur slowly stands, pulling the other teen up with him and not relaxing until he’s made it to the couch. Techno is clinging even in his sleep, and Wilbur has no real plans to let the teen go so he leans back against the couch, Techno safely against his chest as he reaches to check the time, relieved Phil will be home in less than two hours. 

Phil steps through the door, pulling off his coat and glancing around. The house was quieter than usual; Wilbur would’ve usually been playing his guitar by now, but Phil just figured he had more homework than usual and wandered into the living room, pausing at the sight before him.

Wilbur was sprawled on the couch asleep, which wasn’t that much of a surprise. What was a surprise was that he was protectively wrapped around Techno, the smaller boy’s head tucked under his chin. Techno’s face was bloody and his eyes were red from crying, but he looked like he was sound asleep in Phil’s eldest son’s grip.

Wilbur stirred as Phil approached, giving his father a small, tired smile, propping himself up a little. Techno gave a sharp sound at the movement but Wilbur tightened his grip for a moment and the teen didn’t wake. “What happened?” Phil questioned, doing his best to keep the very high amount of concern he was feeling out of his voice. 

  
Wilbur explained, as best he could since he wasn’t clear on the entire situation given Techno hadn’t exactly been coherent. “He’s  _ so  _ touch starved I don’t think I could pry him off me if I wanted to. And he’s  _ thin  _ Phil, I can feel all of his ribs.” Wilbur’s eyes are dark with concern and Phil gives a little nod as he goes to get a wet cloth to clean off Techno’s face, giving a small smile when he sees that by the time he’s back to the couch, both boys are sound asleep. 


	5. Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bad makes a very impulsive decision, and doesn't regret it.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Bad questions for the fourth time this phone call. Skeppy would be annoyed if the genuine worry in his best friend’s voice wasn’t very clear but it was and so Skeppy bit back a pained cough and just said “I’m ok, Bad, I promise. Test came back negative so it’s not Covid, Doc said it’s just a bad flu. I’m ok.” 

Bad thinks it would be much more convincing if Skeppy hadn’t immediately started coughing for thirty seconds. “ ‘m ok bad. ‘M just gonna sleep some, ok?” “But, you’re alone! Being alone while you’re sick sucks!” Bad protested, and Skeppy bit his lip because yeah, his best friend was very not wrong there. “Not like I’ve got a choice dude.” He points out gently. “I’ll be fine, Bad, I promise. I always am.”

Bad stared down at his phone, tears of worry for his friend filling his eyes. Skeppy sounded so defeated, so miserable, so  _ ill,  _ that he couldn’t help but worry for him. He switched over to his laptop, wishing he was there to help him before...pausing. 

He had a job with extraordinarily flexible hours and virtually no commitments since all he did was stream and do videos, $50,000 dollars more than he’d had two weeks earlier, and...Skeppy’s address. He’d given it to him after he’d moved, after the whole Pizza Fiasco, in case Bad ever wanted to get revenge. He hadn’t even considered revenge but...still.

He’s buying the ticket before he can even blink. It’s  _ stupid,  _ he knows it, Skeppy probably doesn’t even want him there and this is a terrible mistake and...and he and Rat are in the car ten minutes later driving to the airport. His anxiety is spiking because  _ what if this is a bad decision  _ but he can’t stop himself from doing it, from wanting to make sure Skeppy wasn’t alone sick and suffering. His best friend deserved better.

He dozes on the plane, rat in a carrier safely secured under his seat, trying not to stress out thinking about Skeppy hating him for doing this for the entire goddamn flight. He wakes up twenty minutes before landing, grabbing his backpack and his messenger bag which he’d shoved down by his feet and exiting the plane as briskly as he could.

He debates between renting a car and getting an Uber, but he isn’t sure an Uber will take Rat and he wants to stop at the grocery at some point, so he rents a car. Rat squirms and whines in her carrier so he doesn’t bother to put her back after taking her out to pee, instead letting her sit in the passenger seat. 

He drives slowly, feeling more and more anxiety creep in. What if Skeppy is mad he came? He knows some people like to be alone when they’re sick, even if Bad knows that that is the last thing  _ he  _ wants while ill, and what if Skeppy is one of them? Well...he was pretty sure it was too late to worry at this point, as he was literally pulling into a parking spot.

He gets out, Rat hopping along at his side. He’d bought the bare essentials at the airport; a thermometer, since Skeppy was a great friend but incredibly bad at taking care of himself, and some Dayquil and Nyquil. Now, he found himself wandering up to Skeppy’s door and knocking, softly.

Nothing happened so he knocked a little harder. And a little harder. He glances down at his phone, pulls up discord, and sees Skeppy hasn’t been online for two hours so he calls him. He can hear the ringing from inside the apartment, from his phone probably, but the phone just keeps ringing and so ten minutes after arriving at the door, Bad finally tries the doorknob and makes a sound as it swings open.

“...Skeppy, lock your dang door you muffin” he grumbles, hanging up the phone and feeling terribly intrusive as he steps slowly into the apartment. Rocco scrambles over and Bad just gets the door shut in time as the two dogs sniff each other. “Hello there Rocco, I’ll take you out in a few minutes” Bad coos to the large dog, scritching him behind the ears for a moment before turning on the lights and looking around.

The living room is empty, and so is the kitchen, not that that’s a surprise since he’s pretty sure Skeppy doesn’t cook. He moves slowly towards the bedroom, cracking the door open and grimacing as he takes in the room. Skeppy’s blankets are twisted and even from the door he can see, and smell, that they’re covered in vomit, and Skeppy isn’t there.

He switches to the other side of the hall, moving much faster now to the bathroom. The door is already cracked so he pushes it open fully to see an incredibly pale Skeppy slumped over the toilet, breathing shakily. “Oh my goodness, Skeppy!” He drops to his knees, fingers coming up to press to Skeppy’s neck, making a sound of relief at the strong, steady heartbeat under his fingers. 

Skeppy stirs slightly, gives a feverish whine, and Bad grimaces at the heat radiating off of his skin. He flushes the toilet, grabbing a towel and wetting it before rubbing it gently over Skeppy’s neck, causing the other man to give a low whimper. “Shh, Skeppy, you’re ok you Muffin.” 

He flushes the toilet, considering what the hell to do now. Skeppy shifted, fever-glazed eyes focusing on his face, and Bad was deeply concerned that Skeppy didn’t even seem to think he was really there because he didn’t react at all. “Ok, you muffin, let’s get you on the couch, it’s a lot more comfy than the floor.” He promises, pulling Skeppy up with him. The smaller man whimpers, gagging, but he’s clearly got nothing left in him to throw up as Bad braces himself against the wall and keeps Skeppy up.

They make it slowly to the couch. Bad lays Skeppy down, gets the thermometer under his tongue, and quickly brings Rocco outside since the dog is whining and pawing frantically at the door. He returns a moment later, grimacing as he sees Skeppy has a fever of 103. “Ok, muffin, you’ve gotta get some medicine ok?” Skeppy doesn’t answer, not that Bad expects him to, but he goes and gets the Dayquil and coaxes Skeppy into opening his mouth to take it.

With Skeppy sound asleep, though shivering hard, on the couch, he goes to clean up the bedroom. He wishes more than a little that Skeppy had a bigger washing machine than the tiny ones tucked into the closet but he dumps the sheets in anyway, finding a clean blanket on a shelf and tucking it around Skeppy.

He wishes he could open the windows, because the apartment still smells like  _ illness,  _ but he really doesn’t want to get Skeppy even sicker and while it’s not cold out, it’s not warm either. He orders groceries for delivery because there is nothing in Skeppy’s cabinets besides a box of cereal and yeah, they're gonna talk about that when Skeppy is ok. 

He sits on the floor with Rocco and Rat, who have become fast friends apparently, petting both of them. Skeppy makes a strangled sound and Bad spins around, grabbing the trashcan he’d left nearby and helping Skeppy roll over so he can throw up into it and not ruin the one clear horizontal surface they have right now. Skeppy whines, pressing his face into Bad’s knees with a whimper. “Shh, go back to sleep you muffin, I’ve got you, I promise.”

Skeppy slowly opens his eyes. Everything hurts; his stomach is on fire and his head is throbbing and he can’t stop shaking. He glances around, a little confused on how the hell he got onto the couch before his glazed eyes focus on the kitchen and he swears he sees someone moving but that isn’t possible because he’s alone, again.

He groans again, biting back on a whimper of misery, and he swears he feels fingers card through his hair gently, imagines his best friend, imagines  _ Bad  _ there, petting his hair, telling him he was safe. It’s a nice dream, much nicer than the ones he was having before, so he closes his eyes and hopes this dream will stick around for a little while.

Bad texts the rest of friends, since he’s pretty sure they need to know that Skeppy is gonna be ok. As soon as he’s done with that, he goes to start making his famous soup; Skeppy needs to keep something down and soup is good, right? Soup is light on the stomach or...something like that, Bad is almost certain. Plus he makes really good soup.

It’s the next morning before Skeppy really stirs again, though Bad had coaxed water and medication into him the night before and he’d thankfully kept it down. Now, Skeppy’s fever was down to 101, and Bad, who had slept on the floor, woke to his friend shifting above him.

“Skeppy?” The man in question groans slightly, shifting and opening much less glazed eyes, now that he’d actually gotten water and medication into his system. “...Yeah ‘m s’ll see’n stuff.” He mumbles into the couch and Bad gives a light, nervous laugh. “Nope, unless you’re seeing something other than me which...say something you muffin cause that’d be concerning and now I’m worried you hit your head.”

Skeppy gives a muffled laugh that turns into a groan of pain. “...Bad?” He questions, leaning his head against the couch and opening his eyes again and yup, his best friend is still there. “...BAD?” He questions incredulously. Bad blushes, gives him a small, shaky smile, and yup, his best friend is  _ there.  _ Skeppy thankfully is smart enough not to do what he wants to do and immediately hug him, but only because he thinks getting vertical at all would make him want to throw up immediately. 

“Skeppy, you ok?” Bad questions, eyes widening a little with concern. “Skeppy?” Skeppy gives a low noise of pain, pressing his hands to his stomach with a grimace and blinking hard a few times. “You’re...really here, in my apartment, with” he blinks at what Bad is holding. “Dayquil and...is that soup? Did you make me soup?” 

Bad gives a little nod and Skeppy gives a delighted smile. “Bad! You came to visit? And you made me SOUP?” He slowly sits, biting back a groan of pain. “Please tell me you also brought Advil?” Bad gives a little, worried chuckle, grabbing the bottle of Advil and helping Skeppy take two. “Are you ok?” Skeppy nods, unable to stop a genuine smile of delight from crossing his face. “Thank you, Bad.” 

Rat jumps up into his lap and he pets her gently, leaning against Bad’s side and slowly starting to eat the soup that Bad had brought him. Bad grabbed the remote, turning the TV on and immediately turning the first Star Wars movie on. Skeppy hesitated before flopping against his side, giving a happy hum as his friend scritched his fingers over his scalp. “G’night Bad” Bad laughed, soft and happy that Skeppy was feeling better as Skeppy let himself sleep.


	6. Thanksgiving and Plane Tickets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno needs a way out. He's still surprised when Phil offers him one.

It was Techno’s least favorite holiday. To be fair, that wasn’t hard because there were a lot of holidays he hated, but Thanksgiving was the  _ worst.  _ At least on other family related holidays, by which he mostly meant Christmas, there were  _ things to do,  _ gifts to open and trees to decorate and shit. Thanksgiving was entirely talking, which for his family tended to mean a lot of insulting him for not being “Normal” enough for them.

One of the benefits of having friends who lived an ocean away was that they were awake at convenient times for his shitty sleep schedule, like 7 am for him, since that was like...the afternoon or something for them. He was flopped in his bed listening to Wilbur and Phil debate whether or not it was ok to eat sand, his friend’s voices a comforting warmth through the layers of fear spiking in his chest.

After a while, Phil seemed to realize that he literally wasn’t speaking. “Techno?” “Mmm?” “Are you alright over there?” He sighs, glancing up at the calendar on the wall. He’d scrawled “hell day” in the spot for November 26th, which just about summed up how he was feeling right now. “It’s thanksgiving today, Right?” Wilbur questions and Techno audibly groans. 

“...Techno?” Techno gave another sound and Wilbur questioned “Are you ok?” He groaned, propping himself up against the wall to speak more clearly. “I just really hate Thanksgiving man.” “Why?” Phil questioned curiously since he’d never experienced Thanksgiving before. “It’s...people. It’s just….lotsa people.” Techno mutters, and he doesn’t think Phil believes him but he doesn’t try to fight it. 

“Is there anything we can do?” “Get me a plane ticket to the UK?” he jokes, giving a low groan of misery at the idea of having to spend time around his relatives. He could hear his mother getting up; a quick glance at the clock told him that it was nearly midnight, oops. A few moments passed and then the door was swinging open and Techno didn’t have time to hit mute before his mother was barging into his room.

_ “Son”  _ She drawls and to his relief, Wilbur and Phil are smart enough to fall silent. “I hope you’re ready for Thanksgiving? I got that wool jumper you  _ love.”  _ The sarcasm in her voice fills the air and he flinches at the thought of the wooly material rubbing up against his skin, hands flapping against his legs for a heartbeat.

She crosses the room, shoves both his arms up against the wall before he can bite back a yelp. “You look here boy, you better not fucking make us look like freaks at another goddamn family gathering, alright?” The threat hangs in the air as she throws the stupid sweater at him and storms out. Techno hunches in on himself, biting back a sob as his hands flap uselessly against the bed. 

“Techno?” Phil’s voice is very soft and the genuine kindness in it forces him to bite down on a sob. “Techno, talk to me kid, what’s wrong?” Techno bites his lip, wrapping his arms around himself and throwing the damn wool sweater across the room. “Techno?” “P...Phil.” He whimpers, grimacing as Wilbur gives a curse in the background. “Techno, what do you need, what can we do, talk to me.” 

Phil sounds so  _ kind  _ that Techno just wants to cry, but he forces his mouth to make words. “I don’ wanna be here anymore Phil.” He mutters, tears gathering in his eyes before he forces them back. “I, I don’t want to go to dinner just to be called a freak. I know I’m weird but I don’ wanna be told it for five hours and I can’t be normal for that long and she’s gonna throw me out Phil, I know she is, for real this time.”

Techno and Wilbur both have never been more glad than they are now that Phil is very, very good at dealing with crises. “Ok, Techno? Listen to me kid, don’t zone out on me now, ok?” Phil’s voice is firm. “This is random but you  _ have  _ a visa for the UK don’t you Techno?” Wilbur questions and Techno blinks because he hadn’t thought Wilbur remembered that he’d been planning to move there, before his mother made it clear leaving would be leaving his family. 

“Uh...yeah, three years as of...last month, yeah.” He’d been so excited thinking about it but he wasn’t willing to be disowned for it...was he?” Phil was typing, Techno could hear his fingers on the keys of his laptop. “Tech? Do…” Phil hesitates, Techno can hear it. “Do you  _ want  _ to come out here, man? There’s a flight from San Francisco in two and a half hours, to the UK. I’m happy to get you a ticket if you want it man.”

Techno didn’t think he could breathe. He could  _ get out?  _ He could be out of the  _ country  _ for Thanksgiving, in the UK with people who actually gave a fuck about him? It was an overwhelming prospect and even his overwhelming anxiety about…literally everything in this entire situation didn’t stop him from giving a sharp “Yes, please.” 

“I don’t have anywhere to stay” he points out five minutes later as he’s packing everything he can into two bags. “I know. You can stay at my place for a while man, Kristen and I have a spare room.” Phil promises, and no matter how many ways Techno finds to say that he’s worried he’ll be a bother, Phil insists and so he can’t say no.

He wraps his computer; the Monitor will have to be shipped, or probably lost if he’s honest, but it’s a shit monitor. His laptop and important info folder go in his bag, along with a bunch of sentimental items. He tosses a few spare clothes into the duffel that has his computer, adding a bunch of books and such. He’s gonna have to pay  _ so much  _ to bring two bags into luggage but he doesn’t care because he really doesn’t plan to come back.

His room is pretty empty by the time he’s done. He’s even packed up the fanart and such that he hangs around his room, slipping on two bonus layers of sweaters in order to not have to pack them. Phil and Wilbur were both still talking to him so he switched to his headphones, hoisting both bags and moving slowly to the stairs when he remembered...another problem. 

“Floof.” Wilbur cursed. “She’s got her paperwork right? You were planning to bring her last month you said...I know she’s Your dog.” Phil had, mercifully, left to talk to Kristen super fast. “Yeah but…” “No buts, dude. Your place clearly aint safe for you and Phil isn’t gonna make you leave your dog.” He nodded, shakily, forcing himself to be logical because Wilbur’s words absolutely lined up with his experiences of what Phil would do.

The Uber driver, mercifully, looked at his red eyes and shaky hands and didn’t question the white dog that hopped up into the car with him. He left them a tip of double what he’d usually give on the app as he got Floof nestled safely in her carrier. His anxiety was spiking again, even with Phil’s quiet assurance that this was somehow going to end well.

He pays a small fortune to check two bags, keeping his messenger bag and backpack on him and praying he can fit the messenger bag under his seat near Floof so he doesn’t have to keep it on his lap. He paces anxiously for an hour; Wilbur, at some point, is so fed up with the silence that he starts playing guitar and it soothes the worst of the panicking edges of his mind. “Techno?” “Yeah?” “try and sleep on the flight, ok man? You’re gonna be fine.” Wilbur promises as Techno stumbles onto the plane and finds his way to his seat.

He’s got a window seat, mercifully, so he gets Floof settled safely. “I...I’ve gotta go, I’ll call you when I land?” He can almost hear Phil nod. “Call as soon as you get through security, ok?” He hums in agreement, hanging up and flipping YouTube’s download page open, and a moment later the sound of Wilbur’s album fills his headphones. He leans his head against the window as he hears the plane taking off, dozing off to his friend’s voice and the knowledge that he was  _ free. _

He wakes up to the plane landing. He checks his watch before remembering that it’s wrong now. His body aches from being crammed into the seat but at least he’d slept. He grabs Floof’s carrier and his bags as he works his way off the plane, blinking in the bright lights of the airport. Security is...faster than he’d expected, even if he’s halfway to a shutdown and  _ really  _ doesn’t want to have to talk; he shows them his visa paperwork, and Floof’s health certificate, and they make it through easily. 

Then he calls Phil. It’s early morning here and for a terrifying moment he doesn’t think that the man will be awake, that this is all a cruel trick and he’ll be stuck here with nowhere to go, but Phil picks up and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Techno! Are you through security?” “Y….yeah. Gotta get my bags and then I’m free.” Phil laughs. “Alright, I’m waiting near the baggage area.” Techno blinks, lifting his eyes up to start slowly in that direction.

He almost doesn’t expect to really see Phil there, but he does; the older man is leaning against the wall, phone in his hands, but he’s clearly not really looking at it because as soon as Techno nears him he smiles and gives him a small wave. “Hey man! Good to see you. You ready to go?” He nods, moving slowly over to grab his bags with shaky hands, passing Phil one when the older man gestured for it. 

Techno is quiet the whole drive, staring out the window, fingers rubbing methodically over the strap of his bag. Floof whines in her carrier in the backseat, strapped in safely, and Phil chuckles. “We’ll be there soon pup” He promises, pulling into the driveway. He grabs Techno’s bags, grunting a little at how heavy one is. “The fuck did you put in here, rocks?” “Computer” “....yeah that makes more sense than Rocks.” Phil laughs.

Kristen greets him with a warm hug and he tries not to panic too badly. Floof scampers around the living room, and Kristen waves off Techno’s attempts to tell them that the dog will calm down once she’s settled in. “She’s a dog, it’s fine man.” Techno flopped onto the couch, giving a few flaps before freezing as if remembering that they were still in the room. He flinched, curled his head down, and...nothing happened.

Phil and Kristen just kept chatting, even though both of them could clearly see him, and Techno was  _ deeply  _ confused. He gave another cautious flap, and when they continued to just discuss what was for dinner he leaned back a little on the couch, one hand flapping hard, eyes wide and confused.

“Tech? You good kid?” He gives a cautious thumbs up with his free hand and so Phil just turns back to try and argue for mac and cheese over stew. “Techno?” Kristen questions, and he glances awkwardly up at her, Floof perching on his lap. “What’s your favorite meal?” He hesitates, biting his lip, trying to find an answer that would avoid conflict but Phil isn’t having it.

“Techno. There isn’t a wrong answer my dude.” He sighs, ducks his head down, eyes cautious. “I uh...I am very fond of waffles?” His voice is hesitant but Kristen  _ grins  _ and it calms the edge of his mind screaming  _ trap, trap, trap.  _ Phil flops down on the other half of the couch with a grin in Techno’s direction. “I’m not streaming today, d’you want a ride anywhere? Anything you need to get your room setup?” “Uhh I have to get a new monitor, but I’ll probably just Amazon it.” “I hate to remind you, but MCC is in two days.” Techno groaned. 

He was  _ excited  _ for MCC; he was teaming up with Phil and Tommy along with Burren, who he’d already won with once. He didn’t want to skip it, so he obligingly tugged his shoes back on and followed Phil back to his car.

The local mall was mercifully close, but the idea of going there still left Techno groaning. He  _ ached,  _ a bone-deep exhaustion that wasn’t going to leave any time soon, and speech still felt like he was dragging the words through honey. Phil thankfully let the drive pass in silence, and if he was sneaking a few extra glances at Techno at every stoplight, the younger man didn’t notice.

The mall is  _ hell.  _ Techno gets three steps in and regrets it, hands flapping against his legs hard. Phil glances over, clearly seeing the distress in his body language. “Techno, do you want to just wait outside and video call me?” Techno shakes his head, and Phil leads the way towards the electronics store that is closest to the exit.

Twenty minutes later, Techno has a functioning monitor. Phil carries it back to the car for him, since Techno’s arms are busy; one is flapping hard against his legs while the other curls tightly around himself. He’s  _ exhausted;  _ Phil had stepped away for Five minutes to buy something else and returned to Techno looking halfway to passing out. The other man tucked his knees to his chest as they drove home, twisted like a pretzel, and even though it is  _ so not safe  _ while Phil’s driving he just goes slower and lets Techno be. 

  
That night, Phil makes popcorn and insists that they watch a movie. Kristen somehow ropes them into watching The Breakfast Club, mostly because she’s horrified that Techno has never watched it, and neither Techno or Phil really cares. Techno claims a chair, curling up around his popcorn bowl and watching Kristen and Phil lovingly tease each other as he silently comes to the realization that  _ this is what family is supposed to be like.  _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy isn't ok, no matter how much he wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the saame world as chapter 6, and it takes place a few weeks after the events of that story. Part 3 coming at some point, because Wilbur deserves a spot too.

Tommy was cold. He was so, so cold; the chill had settled into his bones and made everything hurt and he just wanted to be warm again. He was sitting on a bench, knees tucked to his chest, biting back tears as he stared as his phone willing something to happen.

It had been a normal day. He was keeping quieter than usual on his stream, half because it was mostly just a stream of Dream, George, and Sapnap making jokes about him and half because he really, really did not want his parents to get angry at him again today. He  _ hurt  _ still from two days before when his father had gotten angry, and he really didn’t want to make the pain in his side any more severe.

It’d been a fine stream. His viewers always liked when Dream and co showed up, even if Tommy just felt defeated by the end of it, and since none of them were streaming his viewership spiked high from people tuning in to watch. He’d even hit his next sub goal. 

Then it went Wrong.Thankfully, he’d already logged off and closed his stream when  _ it  _ happened. Apparently his father had, somehow, stumbled upon a video of him playing with Techno, Wilbur, and Phil, one where they’d all been chilling on the SMP and he’d jokingly made some comment about Phil being his dad.

Needless to say, his Father was not overly impressed, and now Tommy was curled up on a bench with his backpack at his side, along with a duffel; his father had given him just five minutes to get out and he’d only managed to grab the bare necessities, which for him meant his streaming setup had been as carefully as he could put into the duffle, beside his monitor which sat by his feet, and a few sets of clothes.

A sharp ring from his phone slowly pulled Tommy out of his own head. He blinked down at it for a moment, confusion spiking in his chest as he saw that  _ Dream  _ was calling him, which was an uncommon enough occurrence that he instinctively hit the answer button. 

“Hey Tommy.” Dream’s voice filled his headphones and he gave a far less enthusiastic than usual “Hey Dream!” the concern filters into Dream’s voice nearly instantly; “Tommy? You ok? I uh...you sounded kinda upset when you left the VC before.” 

Tommy hesitated; what was worse, telling one of his idols that he didn’t like when they poked fun at him that much, or  _ not  _ telling him and having him keep doing it? He was  _ pretty sure  _ Dream would stop, but what if he got mad at him or thought he was being stupid or childish or

Dream’s voice cuts off his spiraling. “Tommy? You there still big man?” “Yeah. I uh...why were you guys being so…mean today? I mean I Know I’m annoying but...why?” It comes off smaller and more fragile than he meant it to and he can hear Dream pause. “Kid.” Dream’s voice is...gentler than usual and it stings. “Is that why you were being quiet today man?” 

His silence must speak volumes because Dream is talking again. “Tommy, kid, if we ever take it too far,  _ please  _ message one of us, yeah? We were just fucking around man, I swear none of us meant to hurt you man. Just shoot one of us a DM or something if one of us takes it too far, ok?” 

He bites his lip, blinking back tears; Dream sounds so  _ sincere  _ that he nods before remembering that Dream can’t see him. “Thanks man.” “No problem kid. D’you need anything else?” Tommy hesitates, bites his lip, feeling a stab of panic in his chest because he was cold and  _ alone  _ and everything  _ hurt  _ and he just wanted to be warm again.

The concern was picking up a little in Dream’s voice. “Tommy? Kid, I’ve never heard you be quiet for four seconds, something’s clearly wrong man. Do you need me to call Wilbur for you? Or Phil? Or do you want me to go?” 

Tommy bites back a sob at the  _ idea  _ of being out here alone, giving a harsh, desperate “Please stay? And no. I’m not their problem.” He can  _ hear  _ the concern in Dream’s voice increase again. “Dude, you’re allowed to not be ok, they’re your friends. Talk to me man, what’s wrong? I can help. Please.” 

Tommy isn’t sure why he does. Maybe it’s the fact that someone actually caring about him burns in that deep, unfamiliar way in his chest. Maybe it’s that Dream is an ocean away and so he can’t  _ do  _ anything to him, even if he doesn’t think Dream would hurt a fly much less a person. Maybe it’s that he  _ knows  _ if he doesn’t Dream will call Phil and Tommy won’t, can’t, be another thing Phil has to try and fix. 

And so he tells him everything. Tommy isn’t sure when he begins to cry, but his hands are shaking and tears are streaming down his face as he tells Dream about his bruised side, and the stream today, and his father finding the video. He tells him about trying to shove his most valuable possessions into his two bags, about climbing out the window with his monitor in one arm and his bag in the other and  _ running. _

Dream, to his credit,  _ immediately  _ started messaging Phil when it became clear where this story was going because unfortunately he was on the other side of a goddamn ocean, he couldn’t exactly do much to help Tommy from over in America. “Shh, breathe Tommy, breathe. I’m so sorry kid.” He can hear the boy choking on sobs and he bites his lip in worry “Kid?” He questions as Tommy finally falls mostly silent, though Dream can hear that he’s still biting back sobs. “Kid, where are you?”

Dream is still talking to him, Tommy can hear him, but he’s long since stopped listening to the words that are being said. He’s tugged on a jacket to keep the chill away but he’s  _ exhausted  _ and he flinches hard when hears footsteps approaching. A moment later, a familiar face is in front of him, hands grabbing his own trembling ones.

Techno grabs Tommy’s phone, taking a step back. “Techno, that you?” “Yeah. We’ve got the kid. Thanks.” “No problem Techno. Let me know if you guys need anything, yeah?” Techno grunts a confirmation and hangs up, passing Tommy his phone back and grabbing his bag.

Meanwhile, Phil had pulled the trembling teenager into his arms. “C’mon kid, let’s get you inside, yeah? It’s cold as fuck out here.” Techno grumbles. Tommy’s eyes flicker between them and he opens his mouth to apologize but Techno cuts him off. “Remember when I first came over here and you told me if I apologized for one more thing that wasn’t my fault you’d punch me? Yeah. that. Don’t.” 

It’s so  _ Techno  _ that Tommy can’t help but smile, letting Phil help him up and stumbling back to Phil’s car to slump down in the heated interior with a low groan. Techno hops into the back seat with him, instead of his usual spot in the front, presses his shoulder to Tommy’s, and tries to breathe.

Techno is silent on the drive back, hands twisting in his coat. Tommy stumbles inside after Phil, Techno bringing up the rear and immediately retreating into his room. “Is it mad?” “God, no, Tommy, he’s just upset.” 

Techno reappeared twenty minutes later, hovering in the doorway. Tommy was curled up in a chair watching up but he looked up when techno appeared, limping. “Dude what the fuck did you do.” “well… _ not  _ punch a wall.” “So you KICKED One instead?”

“My career is not built on my feet.” He limps over to the couch, tucking his knees to his chest and curling up small. Phil grimaces; in the last few weeks, Techno had slowly been relaxing around him and Kristen; he’d stopped jumping out of his skin every time one of them spoke to him and trying to do literally anything he could to please them because he’d realized that they weren’t throwing him out.

Now, he looked a little lost. “Tech, sit over here?” Tommy’s voice is soft but the older man complied at once, coming over and sort of awkwardly settling down nearby. “Is your foot ok?” “ehhhh.” Tommy gave a small laugh, gathering his courage and shifting so he was leaning against Techno. The older man stiffened before cautiously looping an arm around his younger brother. 

Phil wandered back in a few minutes later, after calling Wilbur to tell him what was happening, to find both sound asleep, Techno with an arm wrapped protectively around the teenager who was tucked against his side. He just gave them a small, saad smile, tossing a blanket over them before going to call Kristen, who was on a business trip, to tell her what had happened. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part three, and the last part, for now, of my SBI au. this miiiight (which means probably will be) continued in it's own set of oneshots and if it does I'll repost these as the first three chapters of that and link it with the next chapter. Which, spoilers for next chapter (I was watching that video of skeppy reviewing ban appeals with BBH and acts like he can't read the shit).
> 
> Anyway, Enjoy! Sorry Wilbur's chapter included so much Unconscious Wilbur lmao

Everything was...going ok, and then Covid hit. To be fair, the effect on Tommy, Phil, and Techno was minimal; it's not like any of them were people who went outside on a regular basis and their ability to stream wasn’t affected. Tommy was  _ pleased  _ that his school had switched to online, and an excuse not to go near people wasn’t exactly awful for Techno though he found himself deeply glad that he lived here and not back with his parents.

Kristen’s work had shut down, so she found herself stuck in the house more, which she wasn’t thrilled about but there was a good reason for it and so she made do; she’d taken up cooking, and somehow roped Techno into helping because Tommy “would give us all food poisoning.” Techno didn’t  _ disagree  _ with that, and he’d never minded cooking, so he helped.

It took  _ too long  _ for any of them to really think about the fact that Wilbur was  _ alone.  _ To be fair, it was hard to think about that when you were talking to someone everyday and streaming with them most days, but maybe a month into quarantine, when it became clear that this wasn’t ending anytime soon, they all...remembered.

“Techno?” “Yeah Tommy?” “Do you think Wilbur is ok? I mean he’s like, a person person, and I’d be going  _ nuts  _ if I was alone for this long.” Techno considered; there  _ had  _ been months where he’d basically never left his room and seen another person and he’d been fine, but he was...him, and he  _ didn’t  _ like people. Wilbur did. “I dunno. You should ask him.” he grunts.

Tommy does ask, the next time they’re all getting ready to stream together. “Hey Wil?” He asks, and Wilbur makes a questioning sound. “Are you ok over there? I mean, I know you’ve been like, alone for quarantine and all.” There’s a moment of hesitation and  _ that  _ concerns Techno, even if he doesn’t say it, because Wilbur doesn’t hesitate. He is, as Tommy is, unapologetically loud and vigorous and now he sounds  _ quiet  _ as he just sort of half-whispers “s ok. Lonely.” 

They dip into minecraft and Wilbur lights up again but after two hours, as they’re getting ready to log off for the night, he sounds a little  _ lost  _ and Techno is concerned, a concern that he quietly shares with Phil that night. “We’ll keep an eye on him.” Phil nods, and there’s concern flickering over his face. “I’m sure he’ll be ok, Wil is tough.”

Another week passes, and then another. Wilbur sounds  _ tired  _ every time they stream together and while he quickly bounces into his usual persona, there’s an exhaustion around his shoulders that makes all of them deeply concerned. 

Phil calls him sometimes, off stream, when he’s working on his hardcore world or just chilling, and lets Wilbur ramble to him about his new song. Techno orders him food and gives quiet writing suggestions for the SMP and tells him to take care of himself. Tommy talks a little louder, tries to fill the  _ silence  _ that is Wil’s current environment with as much emotion as he can.

Six weeks after lockdown, at 1:17 in the morning, Techno’s phone rings. He is not asleep, yet, though he was  _ in  _ bed, so for a moment he considers ignoring it but his room is right next to Tommy’s and he doesn’t want to wake the teen up so he fumbles with the phone and hits the answer button, pressing it to his ear. “Hallo?”

A  _ whimper  _ meets his ear, and he stills. “Hallo?” “H..h...hey, f...fuck m s’rry.” Wilbur’s voice, slurred with exhaustion and pain, hits him and he’s on his feet pulling on a shirt before the sentence is done because he is not ok with how lost Wilbur sounds. “What’s wrong?” He questions, hesitates because he isn’t sure if he should wake the others up but Phil had said he could borrow his car whenever and he can totally make it there even with his lack of confidence in driving on the British side of the road.

Techno ducks into the kitchen and runs right into Tommy, who barely avoids falling. “Fuck, I’m sorry bruh.” “Techno?” Tommy questions, slowly taking a step towards the very worried looking man. Techno closes his eyes and shakily holds out the phone.

Tommy has no idea what is going on but he raises the phone to his ear just in time to hear Wilbur give a pathetic whimper and yeah, that...sums it up. “Fuck, ok, Wil? Wilby, talk to me, what’s wrong. Are you sick?” Wilbur gags, whimpers again, but Tommy is patient and so he waits even as he watches Techno pulling his shoes on. “M. Sick. F...food p...poison’n.” he half-slurs, and Tommy curses under his breath, only realizing a moment too late that that was a poor idea when Wilbur gives a muffled apology. 

“Wil, Techno and I are coming, ok? Can you text us your address?” Tommy’s voice is firm and he heads in the direction of the car, Techno trailing behind stopping to grab his bag from his room. Tommy ducks into the passenger seat, tucking his knees to his chest and resting the phone on his knees. “Breathe, bro, we’re comin’ “ 

The forty-five minute drive feels like it takes a decade. Techno is the first one out of the car and up to the apartment. “Wil, did you unlock it?” Wilbur doesn’t answer but Techno tries the nob and it turns so in he goes. The apartment is a bit of a disaster; there are blankets strewn everywhere and Techno can  _ smell  _ sickness so he gags, takes a step back, but he’s the adult here so he forces himself forward.

Wilbur is in the bathroom, slumped against the toilet, too pale and too  _ thin  _ and too shaky for Techno to avoid a feeling of horror stabbing into his chest because  _ they’d let it get this bad,  _ they’d all but  _ forgotten  _ him. “Ah hell, Wil.” He breathes, dropping to his knees by the other man’s side. Wil gives a choked whimper, gagging again, and Techno awkwardly drops a hand to his shoulder.

“Tommy, can you see if he has a thermometer anywhere?” thankfully, the teen is more than smart enough not to question it, not now, rummaging around till he finds one. Techno waits till Wilbur is done, even though the older man doesn’t seem to have anything left to throw up, but he just tugs him gently into his side and wraps his arms around his older brother.

Wilbur has a fever of 102, and he’s so out of it that Techno legitimately is impressed he could call them and Techno doesn’t know what to  _ do,  _ sort of shakily rubbing Wilbur’s back. “Shh, shh, breathe Wil.” Tommy whispers, dropping down on his other side. Techno is  _ panicking,  _ that much is obvious. “I….I think we need to call Phil, dude.” “NO” Techno’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, squirms, giving a few hard flaps against his legs with his free hand.

“Dude he won’t care.” “Yes he will! We broke quarantine and borrowed his car without asking and Wilbur is sick and I’m fucking  **useless!”** his voice is loud, by the end, but he’s shaking and Tommy reaches out, presses himself against Techno’s side. “Dude, Phil wouldn’t get mad at you. Not for trying to help Wilbur. He won’t make you go, Tech, he  _ won’t.”  _

Techno sighs, takes a slow breath as he tries to get the trembling in his hands under control. Wilbur whimpers something nonsensical and Techno nods, forces himself into some actual level of functioning. He’ll pay for it later, he will, but Tommy is  _ afraid  _ and Wilbur is sick and they’ve always mattered more to him than he does.

“Call him in the car,” he says, and he knows he’s chickening out but he doesn’t want call, doesn’t want to hear the disappointment. Tommy stills, something nervous on his face, and Techno suddenly  _ can’t  _ make him. “Nevermind. Can you grab some clothes from his room? I’ll call.” 

He stares at the phone for a long time, too long, before he hits the contact Tommy had forced him to name Dadza. It rang, and rang, and for a terrible minute he was  _ certain  _ Phil would sleep through it, certain he would have to try and take care of Wilbur alone and he would hurt him, would fail him, because he  _ didn’t know what to do.  _

And then a voice filled his ear. “Techno? What’s wrong?” It was Kristen, sounding far more awake than she had any right to, sounding so  _ concerned  _ that he found himself biting back a desperate sob. “Techno. Techno, talk to me, what’s going on? Where are you?” He presses his face into his knees, trying to force the words to his lips and then he’s babbling, desperate and frantic and lost.

“Wilbur called me an’ he was basically incoherent an’ he said he has food poisoning and he sounded so sick and I went to make sure he was ok and Tommy was awake so I brought him too and it’s my fault I’m sorry  _ please don’t blame Tommy. _ ” he knows he trails off into a whimper there, at the end, lost and desperate but he feels so  _ ill  _ and Kristen is talking again and

“Techno, Tech, breathe kiddo. You’re fine, take a deep breath for me, you’re fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you guys and Wilbur get back safely or do you need me to come get you?” He shakes his head, because he can’t inconvenience her and he and Tommy had taken the car, anyway. “We’ve got the car, we can. Get back.” He promises.

“Ok, I’ll make sure we have advil and such. Drive safe. Do you want me to stay on?” He does but he doesn’t want to inconvenience her but he feels small and exhausted and  _ alone  _ even though Wilbur is in his grip muttering something incoherent, but by the time he tries to find the words to say it’s fine she seems to have read his hesitation and said “Alright, I’ll stay on.” 

He stands, pulls Wilbur up with him. Tommy is waiting in the hall, Wilbur’s bag in his hands, and Techno gives him a relieved smile, helping the other man to the car. “Tommy, can you sit in the back with him?” He grunts, and to his  _ relief  _ Tommy doesn’t argue, just puts his bag in the front and hops in. 

Techno puts Kristen on speaker, and he barely hears what she’s saying but her voice is calming as she quietly moves around the house. They get home quick enough and Techno is moving, lifting Wilbur’s annoyingly tall form as gently as he could. Kristen is standing in the doorway and Techno ducks past her, following her quiet instructions to put him on the couch.

Kristen takes over and Techno is  _ relieved.  _ She coaxes him to drink a bottle of water, and take some Advil, sending Techno and Tommy to get cool cloths and a trashcan. Techno hovers awkwardly in the doorway watching. He feels like he’s intruding, watching Tommy actually being helpful and Kristen trying to calm Wilbur down when he starts to thrash and he’s just here, trying a little desperately not to stim, not to look even  _ weirder  _ in front of them.

“Techno?” He isn’t sure when Kristen got so close but he took a few steps back, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You alright dude?” he’s not; his hands won’t stop shaking and he can’t quite take a full breath and he feels small and defeated and  _ scared  _ for Wilbur, for Tommy, for himself. It doesn’t help that he’s on the edge of a meltdown and he knows it; his hands won’t stop shaking and he can’t  _ breathe.  _

He’s going to break, and he doesn’t manage to realize it until he’s screaming. Everything hurts too much and he feels like he’s being stabbed, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s still screaming but he has absolutely nothing left.

He hasn’t had a meltdown, not a true one, since he moved so he’s not surprised it’s  _ bad.  _ He isn’t sure how long has passed when he finally comes back to himself. Awareness returns in waves; there is hard floor under him, his arms hurt,  _ everything  _ hurts. He feels raw; he’s mostly just glad that his head and hands don’t hurt in a way that suggests that he’d been hitting something. 

He is alone. He’s torn between relief and a surge of  _ loneliness.  _ His throat hurts in a way that makes it very clear he’s been screaming and he feels cold and  _ exhausted  _ and he  _ doesn’t want to leave  _ even though he knows that this will, of course, be the last straw. How could it ever not be, how could he hope to be normal enough to be allowed to  _ stay.  _ He stumbles to his feet, knees almost buckling, screws his eyes shut and just  _ breathes  _ but it doesn’t work so he sinks back down into a little ball.

He knows he fucked up. He’d probably scared Tommy and Wilbur was so sick and  _ oh god he’d probably woken Phil.  _ He shuttered, curling in on himself with a defeated whimper, tucking one hand under his knee in an attempt to give himself at least a little pressure, shifting so he was leaning against the wall and trying to focus on pulling air into his aching lungs.

The world came back to him in waves. His knees ache and he’s quite sure that he’d kicked something, but apparently his efforts to force himself to not punch things in a meltdown had lasted which...was good; if there was one thing he hated more than meltdowns it was the idea of hurting his hands, the things that let him do what he loved. 

He sloooowly uncurls, forcing himself to take another deep breath when his lungs stutter. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid stupid.” he curses under his breath, struggling to get the words out of his mouth, still very much feeling like he was hauling his brain through sludge.

“Techno?” The voice catches his attention through the door and he gives a pleading whimper. “Techno, can I come in?” He doesn’t want to let him, doesn’t want to get thrown out the door, but he’s cold and exhausted and so desperate for a scrap of comfort that he nods, anyway, remembering too late that the man can’t see him, forcing a rough “yes” out of his aching throat.

The door opens very slowly as Phil steps into the room. Techno is too late to flinch by the time he sorts through the scene but he does anyway, tries to find the words to apologize but his brain feels like it’s been dipped in syrup and his throat  _ hurts.  _ Phil is in front of him in a moment, hands up, voice mercifully quiet enough that it doesn’t grate on his exposed brain like he expected. 

“Hey man. You doing ok?” He keeps his voice low and it soothes something deep and aching in Techno’s chest. He’s not; he feels exposed, raw, cut open, but Phil’s voice is kind and his eyes are gentle and full of  _ concern  _ as he crouches down so he’s at the same level as Techno. “I’m sorry.” Phil makes a worried sound. “You’re fine man, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he promises, and Techno blinks uncomprehendingly. 

“What? I was awful.” Techno gives a  _ sharp angry miserable  _ self-deprecating laugh. “You don’ gotta lie dude, I know I was shoutin’ an’ bein’ weird.” Phil is  _ deeply  _ concerned; Techno is the king of self-deprecation, but he sounds  _ very  _ miserable and he’s still hunched in on himself, trembling like a leaf in the wind and tears very visible in his eyes.

“C’mon kid, let’s get you to bed you sound exhausted.” It is apparently the wrong thing to say because blatant panic flashes over Techno’s face and he gives a sharp “No!” before he has time to stop himself. He hunches smaller, waits for Phil to yell, but he doesn’t. “Ok. Would the couch be ok? You look pretty exhausted man.” 

He doesn’t want to say no, doesn’t want Phil to stop being so painfully kind to him, so he nods a little desperately. He stands slowly, legs throbbing from the awkward angle he’d been at, head still muddled and swimming in confusion. He almost falls, Phil surging forward to grab his arms to help him stay vertical, and to his surprise Techno leans into his hands. 

Phil doesn’t let go of him, just switches his grip so he can all but hold the younger man up, slowly helping him to the couch. Techno makes a sluggish little sound as Phil steps back, looking small and lost and  _ exhausted  _ curled up on the couch. Wilbur was slumped on the other, asleep now that Kristen and him had managed to coax water and meds into him.

Tommy darted back into the room, bright eyes taking in the scene before him. With a casualness that only Tommy could manage he moved easily across the room, tucking his lanky body in next to Techno’s. Techno just sort of blinked at him in absolute confusion; he knew Tommy wasn’t wild about loud noises, wasn’t wild about yelling. Why wasn’t the teen as far away from him as he could get? Why was he, instead, chilling leaning against Techno’s side talking about Minecraft with Phil, who was...also sitting nearby?

He focused on breathing slowly, not even noticing that Phil had ducked out and reappeared before something warm and heavy was draped over him. It was  _ heavy,  _ soothing the tremor in his hands and the twitching in his entire body. He was  _ exhausted,  _ still shivering with anxiety but Phil was murmuring something vaguely soothing and Tommy was chattering about...how he planned to kill Dream. Like that’d ever work. He fell asleep like that, Phil’s fingers dragging slowly through his hair, which was getting pretty long, listening to Wilbur breathe.

He wakes up slowly. He can smell bacon and...chocolate, maybe? Yeah. Chocolate. He suddenly is  _ much  _ more awake as Tommy springs into his vision, giving a bright grin. “Good morning Technoblade! I made pancakes! And bacon!” Kristen coughs loudly behind him and Tommy rolls his eyes. “Ok, I helped Kristen.”

Techno slowly shoves off the  _ lovely  _ weighted blanket, testing his mouth for a moment before being deeply relieved that words felt much easier. “Yum.” He gives the teen a careful smile, standing slowly; his leg ached, but it didn’t feel worse than bruises. The food was  _ good  _ and it made him a little happy because he knew that one of them had remembered what his favorite meal was. 

Wilbur looked a lot better, though he was still asleep. Kristen caught his eyes landing on the older man and gave a quiet “He’s alright; his fever is down and we got him cleaned up as best we could. He’ll be fine.” Techno nods, slowly eating his pancakes. He still was aching so he finished and hobbled to take a shower.

He was toweling his hair, which was getting pretty long, when he stepped out of the bathroom and found Phil waiting for him. “Hey man, can we talk quick? It’s not bad” he promises but Techno’s anxiety still spikes hard. “Course.” He follows Phil towards his room but Tommy intercepts them, holding...a very badly wrapped lump?

“Heyyy Techno, this was gonna be a birthday present but uhh.” he shoves it at the taller man, who blinks before awkwardly taking it and opening it, ignoring the fact it looked like Tommy was considering to bolt. He pulled off the wrapping paper and..found himself holding a stuffed pig? He opened his mouth to...mostly just ask but Tommy babbled before he had a chance to speak. “You, you said last month, that you’d never had a stuffed animal. And you looked stressed so.” 

“Thanks, kid.” Techno tucks the stuffed pig securely under one arm, giving Tommy an awkward, but genuine, smile as he finished the distance to his room. He flopped onto his bed, tucking his arms awkwardly around the pig as Phil settled down in his desk chair. “I just wanted to check in and see if there was anything you needed after last night?” Techno blinked owlishly at him, and Phil forced himself not to be furious at the younger man’s parents.

“I wanted to see if there was anything we could do to help you after your meltdown. You still looked stressed and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help. Or to help in the future.” Techno hesitates, tilts his head, and he looks very much like he’s looking into Phil’s soul. Phil thinks for a moment that he simply isn’t going to respond, before he gives a very careful “Noise hurts. When I’m having a bad day. I don’ like it.” Phil nods. “Okay.” 

He can tell there’s something else but he really doesn’t want to pressure Techno; Techno is typically uncomfortable talking about himself on a good day much less today. Techno hesitates though, and there’s something  _ longing  _ in his eyes. “I...af’er, I get real twitchy and…” he hesitates, bites his lip, and surges on. “An’ physical contact ‘elps. Hugs an’ shit. They’re… grounding.” 

Phil can see the  _ misery  _ on Techno’s face; it breaks his heart to know that the 19 year old is fully expecting him to laugh, to throw him out, to be upset with him. “Oh, Tech.” He leans forward a little, catches Techno’s gaze as gently as he can. “Ok. Would you like a hug?” Techno blinks up at him in confusion but Phil opens his arms and he’s  _ relieved  _ as the younger man seems to surprise himself by surging into them, clinging to Phil with a whimper.

Phil tightens his grip, murmuring reassuringly. “It’s alright, Tech. You did good, kid. Wilbur’s gonna be ok thanks to you.” Techno makes a hesitant little sound, giving a careful “You’re not...angry?” “Of course not. You did what you thought was best and helped someone who needed help. That’s a  _ good  _ thing, Tech.” he promises, tightening his grip a little as Techno leans into the touch like a man in a desert reaches for water.

Kristen declares this is a pajamas and movie day, and Techno has no desire to fight her on it. He claims half the couch, wraps the weighted blanket around himself and even though it makes him feel a little awkward, he keeps the stuffed pig tucked against his chest because it’s  _ soft  _ and gives him something to fiddle with and Tommy’s face lights up when he sees that Techno had liked his gift. “What’re we watching?” 

They end up watching The Fox and The Hound, half because Tommy and Techno have never seen it and half because Tommy wants to make jokes about Fundy the whole time. Techno doesn’t pay much attention to it, anyway; movies tend to be too long to really keep his focus so he ends up fiddling with his phone, head resting in Tommy’s lap as the teen braided his hair with more focus than Techno had ever seen him with.

It was soothing, like this; Wilbur was asleep leaning against Phil’s side, Kristen was on the floor because “it’s the best angle” leaning against his legs. Techno’s feet were in Phil’s lap and his head was in Tommy’s as he claimed most of the couch, dozing off to the knowledge that his family would keep him safe. 


	9. In Which Ranboo Hunts for a Trident

Ranboo didn’t think he’d ever been more afraid in his  _ life.  _ He was exhausted, skin still throbbing after the Skeppy Lava Incident, but more than that, the knowledge that he had  _ lost  _ Ant’s trident was terrifying the 17-year-old. Antfrost had trusted him to take care of the trident and now he was never going to be trusted by any of them ever again and he was still shaky and raw from respawning and he was  _ so tired.  _

He’d been in the ocean for hours, ignoring the way the water burned at the enderman-influenced half of him, desperately trying to find another trident for Ant, but no matter how many drowned he killed he couldn’t get one. He wasn’t surprised, he knew that it was really hard to get tridents, but he was  _ so tired  _ and he had to keep going, keep looking, until he found one.

Antfrost, meanwhile, had no idea that Any of this was going on which wasn’t relatively helpful. He’d loaned Ranboo his trident a few weeks ago, but he needed to take it back to be able to reach the higher parts of Skeppy and Bad’s house easily, for a project they were working on. He’d spent most of the day trying to  _ find  _ the hybrid teen, a little surprised when he wasn’t in his house or in L’Manberg at all.

It was Bad who eventually put the pieces together after Skeppy had mentioned feeling bad about not having water to put the lava out fast enough when that whole thing happened, though he’d insisted Ranboo was fine and had respawned fine. Bad, who had heard Ant asking after the teen the day before...put together  _ that whole situation  _ and went to find the cat man.

“Soooo Ant….uhhhh….” “Yeah?” “So, tiny issue, Skeppy was a bad muffin and dumped lava on...Ranboo, I think? For a prank or something? I dunno. Anyway, he uh...said most of Ranboo’s gear burned up and I know you were trying to find him to get back that trident but it’s probably toast.” Ant sighed, nodded; at this point he’d been trying to find the kid for two days, so he wasn’t shocked to not be getting his trident back but…

“Why didn’t he tell me? I wouldn’t have gotten mad it wasn’t HIS fault Skeppy’s idea of trolls are...yknow.” “He can be a bad muffin.” Bad nods in agreement. “He doesn’t mean to, you know that.” “I do” Ant nods. “But I’m gonna prank him back for that one.”

Bad has wandered off by the time Ant realizes why there’s such a bad feeling in his chest. He’s respawned before, of course he has, and it always made him feel so  _ awful,  _ shaky and weak and  _ terrified,  _ and Ranboo had respawned and...no one knew where he was which meant that he probably was  _ alone.  _ Ant didn’t think he’d have survived most of his respawns if he didn’t come back on his bed with Bad and Skeppy and Sam there to make sure he was alright, and the idea of the teen doing it alone was terrifying. 

He kept looking, but Ant wasn’t a tracker, wasn’t a hunter, he was a mechanic. He was better at  _ making  _ things, and understanding why things were doing what they were doing and not working, than he was at understanding where a scared seventeen-year-old would go. It took him  _ too long  _ to think that if he was in that position, having lost something that had been loaned to him...he’d try and get a new one.

As soon as he realized that he was running. It didn’t matter that Ranboo’s enderman half caused him to apparently hate water, the teen had shown in his first few weeks in town that he had  _ no  _ self-preservation instincts and had an impressive tendency to do things to help other people at a cost to himself.

He scanned the shore, begging himself to be right. He didn’t relax until his eyes landed on the tall figure, multicolored skin visible, standing in the shallows. “Ranboo!” Ant calls as he hurries over the bank towards the teen. Ranboo flinches, turns, and Ant stills at the  _ fear  _ on the boy’s face.

“Hey, kid, it’s ok. C’mon, get out of the water man.” Ranboo shakily complies, arms wrapping weakly around himself; between the respawn and two days of effectively non-stop trident hunting he was shaking in agony. Ant takes a step closer and Ranboo whimpers, babbles “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I lost the trident I  _ swear  _ I’ll get another one just  _ please don’t kill me!”  _ He begs, and Ant flinches like he’s been burned.

“Kid, breathe, I’m not gonna kill you. I’m not gonna hurt you. I know it was Skeppy’s fault. You’re ok.” Ant panics, substantially, when the  _ very tall  _ teenager starts to shake with sobs, hurrying forward to crouch in front of the kneeling teenager wishing  _ deeply  _ that Bad was here because he was substantially better with people in pain.

He hesitated, unsure if touching the teen was a good idea when he was probably in pain from the water and from  _ dying  _ and he was clearly upset, but Ranboo made the decision for him, slumping into his side with a sob, pure white arm clinging to the cat hybrid. Ant hesitantly patted the non-enderman half of his back, since he wasn’t sure touching his other side was a good idea, hissing worriedly.

Ranboo fell asleep like that, and Ant sighed, hauling him up with himself and starting back towards the Badlands. He for the first time regretted the fact that they’d made Sam’s base  _ so fucking far away  _ because hauling a six-and-a-half foot tall teenager across half the goddamn SMP was  _ not fun at all.  _

“SAM” He shouted, as soon as he got close, and he’d never been more glad for the fact that the creeper hybrid had enhanced hearing because Sam was  _ there  _ in a moment, giving a worried sound. He tried to slide under Ranboo’s free arm, but the boy howled in anguish as the enderman half of him was touched. “Here, swap with me” Ant slid out from under him, letting the bigger man take the teen’s weight. “What happened?” “Later.” 

They get Ranboo into bed, Sam’s bed since it’s the only one long enough for the teenager to fit. Ant curls up by his side, hissing whenever anyone gets close to the point Sam has to sit on the other side of the bed and breathe because the hissing spooked the creeper hybrid.

“...Sorry Sam.” “You’re fine, dude.” Bad had come back in and dosed Ranboo with healing potions. He and Skeppy were asleep curled up together in a chair; Bad wanted to keep an eye on Ranboo and Skeppy refused to not be near Bad, so there they were. 

Ranboo stirred awake, whimpering a little in pain. His skin was on fire and he was still feeling weak and shaky from being forced to respawn. He blinked, surprised to find himself curled up on a bed, Ant flopped by his feet. Sam shifted a little giving him a small smile. “Hey kid. You’re alright, you’re at my base, don’t try to get up. I’m gonna get you some water.” 

Ant stirred as Sam scritched a hand over his ears, bright eyes scanning the room before landing on Ranboo. “Oh you’re awake! Are you feeling ok?” Ranboo gave a shaky nod, giving a quiet “I’m sorry about the trident” “It’s fine, kid, I’ll just make Sam give me one of his like, seven.” Ranboo nods, curling up a little smaller. “Kid. Look at me?” 

He does, meets Ant’s worried eyes. “I don’t...know much about what you’ve done before here, kid.” His voice was careful. “But  _ please  _ talk to us before you torture yourself for two days next time? Respawning is hard enough but i'm surprised you’re  _ alive  _ after that long in the water, a full enderman can’t really touch it at all.”   
  


Ranboo hums, curling back up, long limbs still heavy with exhaustion. “Go to sleep, kid, we’ve gotcha.” Sam hums, curling up in his chair again, despite the fact he’s at least a foot too tall for it to be comfortable. Ranboo nods, making a happy sound as someone tosses a blanket over him, closing his eyes and letting himself doze off listening to Sam and Ant hiss at each other in a way that...sounds happy, somehow. 


	10. Winter Chills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the winter season get's too cold, Fruitberries is lucky to have friends to call for help. 
> 
> TW: Sickness (non graphic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry it's been a bit but I finally got some inspiration. This fic was inspired by a Brilliant season from mayflowers07, which I'll link below, called I can be the one you call and I Highly recommend everyone give it a read. I miiiight do a second inspired by it with Hbomb because I have an idea, but we'll see. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051148

Rendog wasn’t entirely sure why he’d done it. He was chilling in his base on the Hermitcraft server, typing on his communicator in the group chat with the other Blue Bats, False, Fruitberries, and Hbomb. It had been months since they’d won MCC but they still chatted in the group chat almost every day.

False had hypothesized to Ren once that the reason that Fruit, who wasn’t the most expressive or social guy any of them had ever met, initiated so many of these conversations was because he was lonely on whatever the hells his homeworld was. That had  _ worried  _ Ren; he considered all of them family and he didn’t want them to be lonely so he’d put in an effort to talk to the other man more.

A month or so after they’d won, they were talking about how absurd the afterparties for MCC sometimes got; people had a tendency to be riding high on the adrenaline of competing and so “fun” wrestling matches and drinking contests tended to happen and they just tended to be loud and  _ chaotic  _ as shit.

**Rendog:** Hey, Fruit and H you guys here?

  
  
**Hbomb:** Yessir!

  
  
**Fruity:** ? 

  
  
Ren laughed a little at his communicator; Fruit was never the most communicative person in the world and this was no exception. He considered for a moment, leaning against the wall as he tried to find the words. 

**Rendog:** Pls don’t mention this to anybody else, security and all, but I just thought that it’d be good to mention this to you guys in case of emergency. Us hermits have a code, Blue Creeper, for if anyone isn’t ok and needs help. I know you guys are tougher than we are but like...in case of an emergency.

**Hbomba:** Oy! You guys are plenty tough! Stop doubting yourself!

  
  
**Fruity:** Thanks

Ren tucked the communicator back into his pocket, feeling a little lighter; he sincerely doubted that either of them would ever actually do it, but knowing that in an emergency his friends had a way to say they needed help was a small relief.

Now, it had been a few months since their MCC victory and they were rapidly nearing the winter holidays. Ren had been staying at False’s base after a...TNT incident at his own a few days before, and they’d decided to just chill and spend the holidays together because holidays with friends were always better than holidays alone.

False had gone out to mine or something, he’d honestly been mostly asleep when she’d told him so he wasn’t quite sure, and so he was flopped on the couch messaging the groupchat and trying to decide if they needed any more decorations. 

**Rendog:** You guys planning anything fun for the holidays? 

**Rendog:** Falsie and I are just gonna chill around the Hermitcraft server probably, maybe we can prank someone or something! 

**Hbomba:** Not really any plans yet but I’m sure I’ll go to a party or something. OH AND , I’ve sent you guys gifts btw, but no opening them till Christmas!    


  
**Rendog:** But H….

**Hbomba:** NO Ren, no opening them early. False will tell me right False?

  
  
**Falsie:** Of course!

  
  
**Rendog:** TRAITOR.

Ren snickered, glancing back down at his communicator with a grin on his face. He blinked, a little concerned that Fruit hadn’t responded since the quieter guy had been in the conversation before this, but he relaxed when, a moment later, he spoke up again. 

**Fruity:** Nah, I don’t tend to celebrate too much, I don’t have any friends nearby to celebrate with. Thank you for the gift, H.

Hbomb must’ve thought Fruit seemed uncomfortable with the current conversation, because he quickly changed the topic to what he should have for dinner, inspiring a spirited debate between Fruit and False on whether ravioli or spaghetti was better for him to have for dinner tonight and Ren found himself snickering at his friend’s antics.

He honestly had never thought there was any chance they’d  _ use  _ the code; Fruit was as stubbornly proud as they come and while Hbomb wasn’t as stubborn he was just as unlikely to “inconvenience” them in that manner. He didn’t think they’d ever do it but he felt better knowing that in an emergency they knew it and that was that.

Fruit never wanted to use the code. He was tough and stubborn and he was more than capable of taking care of himself so he’d _never_ have to ask for help, never have to _need_ someone to care.

He was pretty sure that he was very close to needing to beg for help. He was severely regretting his decision not to make a safer base on his home world; his own tiny base was  _ cold  _ and so he’d gotten sick and now he was alone and cold and  _ really  _ ill and he hated it. 

It was, he was pretty sure, two days before Christmas when he realized this just wasn’t going to work. He’d been sick for almost a week at this point, nearly delirious with fever and struggling to even make it far enough across his home to get water before collapsing back on the couch in a ball of miserable pain. 

Now, pain had settled into his lungs, the cold air making each breath harsh and aching. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt so  _ weak  _ and that was the most terrifying part, what set terror into the base of his chest. If something happened, for perhaps the first time since he first picked up a sword,  _ he wouldn’t be able to protect himself.  _

His communicator buzzed and he glanced down at it, dull green eyes struggling to focus for a moment before seeing just how  _ many  _ messages he had from the others and how worried they sounded. All three of them had messaged him and so had Grian and he felt like such a  _ horrible  _ friend for not responding but he was certain if he did he’d just want to beg for someone to come help him. 

He coughed again, sending jagged spikes of pain through his chest and head, and that was what did it. He  _ hurt  _ so badly and, rather more importantly...he wasn’t getting better, not here in the cold home he’d been too sick to get wood to heat. He was getting worse. He needed help and he needed it now.

He fumbled with his communicator, desperately trying to focus on the letters in front of his face as he scrambled for the group chat with the other blue bats.  _ They aren’t going to listen,  _ something small and cruel in the back of his head whispered.  _ They aren’t going to care they’re just going to laugh at you.  _ He forced the thoughts away; he wasn’t sure, not really, if they were true or not but he was terrified that he was going to die here alone and so he had to try.

He forced himself to focus, willed the letters to clear under his eyes until they did until his trembling, sweaty hands could find the correct letters.  _ Please  _ he wanted to beg, but he didn’t hate himself quite enough for that.  _ Please, please, please care.  _

**Fruity:** Blue creeper 

For a terrifying moment, there was nothing and he was sure that they would ignore him, that they were busy or that they didn’t care and  _ why are you bothering them it’s two days until Christmas they’re probably celebrating you’re such a bother _ and then his communicator vibrated, hard and fast and  _ repeatedly.  _

**Ren:** Oh god, oh god, Fruit where are you? 

**Hbomba:** Oh shoot that’s the code isn’t it. Fruit? Are you OK? 

**Fruity:** Pls. help. Hurts. 

His chest throbbed in agony and he felt so  _ stupid  _ like this, begging his friends for help because he was too dumb to avoid getting sick and too dumb to do something about it before it got this bad but he felt too awful to really be self-depricating, now. He forced himself to focus, forced himself to find the words to explain.

**Ren:** Fruit where are you? We can’t help if we can’t get to you.

**Fruity:** Home. Pls.

**Ren:** Does anyone have Fruit’s home server’s address?

  
  
**Hbomba:** No

  
**Falsie:** No. Fruit please hold on we’re coming I promise.

**Hbomba:** I’ll call Scott gimme a second. 

**Ren:** Fruity, what’s wrong? What do you need? 

Ren stared down at his communicator, willing his friend to be ok and Hbomb to hurry the fuck up and get his server address. Speaking of...gods he really hoped Fruit had then whitelisted or this was going to be an Experience and there was a non zero chance that they  _ couldn’t  _ get to him. 

He glanced back at his communicator, noting that False was still messaging Fruit, trying to get him to explain what was wrong and assuring him that nobody was annoyed in any way that he’d used the code, that it was  _ good  _ that he’d done it if he needed it, but Fruit wasn’t responding and Ren could feel his friend’s concern growing as she ducked into his room and dragged him back out into the livingroom to wait.

It felt like an eternity had passed but it was probably less than ten minutes later when Hbomb  _ finally  _ messaged the server address to them. Ren was there in an instant, and apparently Hbomb and False were too because they all literally ran into each other. 

Ren opened his mouth to greet Hbomb when his eyes landed on the...he didn’t want to insult Fruit but calling what was before him a House would be generous it was...small. The air around them was also bitterly cold, and there were a few inches of snow on the ground as all there hurried in the direction of the house.

It smelled like  _ illness,  _ which both answered what was wrong with Fruit and prompted a lot more questions that nobody wanted to answer and then False’s eyes landed on the couch and she made a strangled, worried sound, dropping to her knees beside the trembling form curled under a blanket there.

“Oh gods, Fruit.” She breathed, dragging her fingers gently through his dirty hair. She could hear the breath rasping in his lungs and feel the fever under her hands. What was perhaps even more concerning was that way Fruit’s dull eyes stared up at her, looking like he either wasn’t seeing her or was certain that she wasn’t  _ there  _ which...that was concerning. 

He coughed, gasping for breath, and False hauled him upwards to help him uncurl a little so he could breathe better, grimacing at the way Fruit was trembling, slumped in her grip. Ren was messaging rapidly on his communicator, while Hbomb dropped down to try and coax some water into Fruit, because he looked  _ scarily  _ dehydrated, but he whined and turned his head into False’s shoulder with a pitiful sound. 

She exchanged a worried glance with H, who looked, for perhaps the first time since she’d met him, not enthusiastic and happy. His face was marred with worry as he dragged fingers soothingly over Fruit’s back, grimacing at how hot it is. “Here, Fruit, drink.” He nudges a healing potion against his mouth and Fruit whines, turns away a little, but Hbomb is stubborn and doesn’t let him turn away until he’s swallowed it.

False glances around and tries to figure out what the  _ hell  _ to do. The house is concerningly small and the bigger issue perhaps is that it’s  _ freezing  _ cold. There’s a fireplace but it’s empty and when False looks back at H she can see they’ve both put at least some of the pieces together. 

“Ren, if you’re getting help can you do it fast he’s lookin’ bad” False’s voice was s tense but Ren didn’t look up from his communicator for another moment, before finally turning to give False a  _ look _ . “H, make sure he doesn’t literally die” She orders, stalks across the room to pull him into what she realizes is Fruit’s bedroom a moment later. 

Hbomb sighs, leans back so he can pull his friend into his lap, murmuring soothingly. It’s scary, to see Fruit, who is so unshakeable, like this, but his hands don’t falter as he strokes his hair. “I see you got my gift” He nods at the corner of the room, which must be where Fruit puts his mail because there are two boxes, one he recognizes and one covered in pink paper with little crowns so he can assume who it’s from. 

He doesn’t hear the others come back, not until False and Ren are gently tugging Fruit to upright, since none of them are strong enough to carry him outright, and Hbomb darts to grab the gifts, tuck them into False’s bag. “Where are you guys goin’ with him?” He asks, cautiously, because he knows his own place isn’t good enough for the hermits standards.

“Home.” Ren’s voice is tinged with friendly affection, and Hbomb blinks as his chest pangs slightly because that means Their home which means. 

Which means he’s being left here, or back at his own home, which while it’s a _ lot  _ better than this place doesn’t stop the fact that he’s really worried about Fruit. He must’ve made a sound, or maybe Ren was just psychic, because Ren turned, grabbing H’s arm and hauling him with them. “You’re coming too” False says, and it’s not a question but he nods anyway. 

Then there’s the overwhelmingly strange feeling of teleporting and his feet land on solid ground again. He makes a quiet sound, helps the others keep Fruit upright, and help him onto False’s couch. “Shhh” he whispers as Fruit makes a quiet sound, almost jumping out of the skin as the door opens and then there are  _ people  _ there  and H backs up, tries not to be in the way. 

Twenty minutes later, Fruit is breathing easier with an oxygen mask and his fever is down. Hbomb is sound asleep, too, curled up half draped over their friend and grumbling when Ren tries to untangle him from Fruit. Ren eventually gives up, tucks himself against False’s side with a sigh. “We should’ve checked up on him.” He mutters, gives a self-deprecating snort, but False tightens her grip on her friend. “We didn’t know. We’ll do better” She promises, staying awake long into the night even as her friends sleep, watching every breath Fruit takes with fear that it will be his last. 

He comes back to consciousness slowly, like he’s swimming through molasses. He is laying on something soft, what he vaguely recognizes as an oxygen mask over his face and a heavy weight draped over his lap. He forces his eyes open, relief flooding his chest when he realizes that when he draws a breath, his chest barely tinges. 

He’s laying somewhere he doesn’t recognize, a fact that almost inspires panic but then he shifts his eyes down and sees Hbomb is the weight on him and relaxes a little as his memories trickle back in; he’d messaged them, he remembered that, and he thought he had a hazy memory of a door and worried voices but beyond that there was nothing.

He trusts H not to have let him be somewhere that would hurt him and so he shifts, blinks down at the IV in his hand for a moment before his eyes come to rest on Ren and False. They’re both sound asleep, False leaning against the couch and Ren leaning against her in an effort to be as close as possible. 

Relief floods his chest so hard that he finds himself biting down tears for a moment. They’d  _ come,  _ they’d actually  _ come,  _ they’d actually come to help him when he asked. It had been weeks since he’d seen any of them and even though he was still tired and sick and hungry, he felt  _ safe  _ like this.

Later, when the sun was properly up, they’d make him eat and assure him he didn’t have to apologize for needing help. Xisuma would come by, take one look at False and Ren defensively flanking him and Hbomb and assure them that they didn’t have to leave until they wanted to, that no one was going to chase them out so  _ False please put down your sword.  _

There’d be questions, too, like why the  _ hell  _ he’d waited until he was half dead to ask for help, and more importantly why he lived, as Ren put it, “In a really depressing hut” but for now, curled up within close distance of all three of them, Fruit closed his eyes and slept better than he had in a very long time.


	11. Hbomb's Woe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hbomb's never been one for jealousy, not really. He trusts people, loves them, far too openly for that. That's why he doesn't understand why it hurts when he looks over and sees Grian with His family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long I wrote 90% of it a month ago and then just...couldn't end it. I'm still not that happy with it but I don't think I can sit on it forever so enjoy and as always please lmk if you have any ideas for future oneshots!!

Hbomb knew he wasn’t the strongest person in the world. He wasn’t weak, sure; he could hold his own in a 1 v 1, or a parkour race, or Buildmart, but he wasn’t the best at any of them, would likely never be the best, and that was fine. He didn’t need to be; he was competitive to an extent, sure, but he was also happy to just have a good time and enjoy the competition.

Despite that, though, despite how openly and freely he cared about everyone he’d ever met, pretty much, he knew that he was relatively poor at asking for help or sharing his own feelings if they weren’t positive. He didn’t like to drag people down, to make his problems other people’s problems, if there wasn’t a very good reason and to be perfectly frank, he’d probably only find actually  _ being on the brink of death  _ a good enough reason.

He always loved MCC. Getting to compete was awesome but getting to hang out with his friends, getting to have some fun playing games, that was his favorite part. Ever since he and Fruit had “temporarily started staying with” the Hermits (no matter how hard False and Ren tried to hint that they were Moving In For Good, Fruit and H still seemed to be oblivious), and he’d gotten to hang out with them more, it’d been  _ nice.  _

He knew he wouldn’t get to team with them again, and that was fine; he was  _ fine  _ with that because they’d won together and he knew how it worked. He hadn’t even thought it’d hurt, at all, that the other three were together. Falsie had mentioned it to him one morning, over the cereal both were scarfing down for breakfast, that they were on a team again and he was happy for them.

So why did it hurt so much, now, sitting quietly with his team watching them? Hells, his team was fun; it was him and Scott and Shubble and Fwhip. It was a good team, they actually had a chance to do well, and yet before the tournament began he just sat watching them joking around with Grian, who was clearly delighted to be with his friends. 

Why was he having to talk himself down from the  _ fear  _ that they were going to realize how much better Grian was and  _ leave him?  _ He  _ knew  _ it was a stupid fear; False and Ren had been friends with Grian for  _ years _ but he couldn’t shake the fear in his chest that Grian was going to shove his way into  _ his  _ spot in their little family and he’d be alone. 

He distracted himself with the games, as they began. He and Scott had been friends for years; there was a reason, after all, that Scott had trusted his intentions when he’d asked for Fruit’s server address and he’d never stop being grateful for Scott’s friendship. The issue, today, was that he was  _ loudly _ enthusiastic about MCC and Hbomb really was just trying to get through the day.

He watched them doing well, and he was proud. His own mood was not improved by the fact that he floundered and struggled through the first few games; even his hole-in-the-wall performance was not as good as it typically was, and he could see Scott watching him with some concern on his face. 

He tried to avoid Scott, after that; he spent most of the break icing the bruises his leg had obtained getting whacked by a jump he should’ve made easily in Hole In The Wall. Scott had dragged Shubble and Fwhip to practice parkour and so he was left alone, sitting on a bench sort of near the decision dome. 

His eyes caught Fruit’s and he flinched hard. The younger man had an arm around Grian’s shoulder, snickering at something the smaller said while Fruit and Ren chatted a few feet away. He couldn’t pull his eyes away, feeling something small and painful twist in his chest at the fact that he was over here being  _ stupid  _ while they were enjoying themselves without him. 

He forced himself back up as the bell signaled the start of game five, testing his aching leg before heading in the direction of the dome, oblivious to the worried looks that False and Fruit were giving him. “Do you think he’s doing alright?” Fruit wondered aloud, hesitating. “He looked upset.” Ren shrugged, slinging an arm around False’s shoulders. “It’s  _ H,  _ I’ve never seen him be upset for more than about 3 minutes. I’m sure he was just sulking because he didn’t pop off on Hole In The Wall before.” 

His mood improved a little as his team did well in the back half of the games. He stubbornly kept his eyes on his own performance, and the adrenaline of the now _very hard_ parkour warrior was at least enough to keep him going over the obstacles even on an aching leg. 

And then he got off the course, and turned around, and Grian was  _ crying,  _ tucked against False’s side. Fruit had wrapped an arm around Ren, and even from his position a bit away H could hear him whispering soothingly to the frustrated man, who was complaining about just  _ how  _ difficult the course had gotten. 

He wanted to go over there; those were his friends and he should be able to comfort them but he couldn’t bring himself to move.  _ They don’t want you there, you’re just going to make them feel worse  _ his traitorous brain hisses and so he just..stands there until Scott comes up behind him, tugs him along with him. 

He wasn’t...surprised that they made the finals. He knew his team was solid; Scott had a lot of finals appearances and so did Shubble, and Fwhip was also talented. He was more surprised that with him struggling so hard they still did well. It actually improved his mood slightly, to hear them rooting for him; sure, he was pretty sure they were more rooting against dream, but it was something.

Losing was never fun, everyone knew that. But what hurt, what really hurt, was losing so  _ badly,  _ losing as Dream  _ laughed  _ at them and said how much better he was. Watching him celebrate with his friends, knowing that H’s friends, his  _ family,  _ were enjoying their own pretty decent performance without him.

He wasn’t sure why his feet took him to the lower section, where statues of each winning team were. He stared up at the ones of them, Him and Fruit flanking Ren and False, all four smiling and happy and  _ home  _ and he found tears welling in his eyes.  _ They’re going to be so disappointed in you. They know you can win, and so do you, and you just got fucking embarassed  _ out there **_._ ** _ You’re useless.  _

He’s crying properly, now, tears streaming down his face and he’s vaguely aware that he’s  _ panicking  _ as he scrambles for somewhere safe, tucks himself into a ball behind the podium where he doubts anyone could see him and cries until he can’t breathe anymore, until he’s choking on air and he can’t stop from panicking that he’s going to  _ die here  _ and

And his numb fingers fumbled with his communicator. He doubted they’d come, he honestly wasn’t even sure he opened the right chat, but he had to try he had to try he needed someone he didn’t want them to hate him  _ please I’m trying so hard please let me be enough  _ and

**Hbomb:** Blue creeper

**Ren:** What? H, where are you, what’s going on? Fuck, did anyone see where he went?

**Fruit:** I’m going to go look, we’re coming man. 

**False:** talking to Scott

False was very relieved that she found Scott within the first, like, thirty-five seconds of searching. She didn’t even bother to apologize to Karl and Sapnap for grabbing his arm, stealing him, and dragging him ten feet away. “I need you to find HBomb like, now.” “...what? What’s wrong? How am I even meant to do that?” Riiiight, Scott didn’t have OP. Well…this was less helpful than False had been hoping it would be. “Did you see where he went?” “I didn’t, I’m sorry.”

He was still crying, gasping too hard to hear the footsteps that approached. Techno stared at the smaller man who was clearly having a breakdown, the voices all shouting ideas. 

**Kill him!**

**Hug him!**

**Get Sensei Fruit!**

**Kill! Blood for the blood god!**

“Ok, chat, less murder please.” Techno grunts, before focusing on one of those. Fruit was Hbomb’s friend...right? Maybe? Possibly? He wasn’t sure but it wasn’t  _ possible  _ that Fruit was worse than Techno was at this so Techno turned and jogged off, pig ears flicking as he listened, surprised when his sensei’s worried calls reached his ears.

“Sensei?” Fruit turned, nodding to him. “Techno I’m sorry but I’m really busy have you seen Hbomb?” Techno blinked, nodded; “Yes, that’s why I was trying to find you” He explains, shifting awkwardly. “He’s down by the statues cryin’. He looked...upset. I was worried.” 

Fruit paled, thanking the other man and hurrying off, texting Fruit and Ren quickly.

**Fruity:** He’s by the statues, get down here now. 

Fruit’s heart broke as he peaked around the statue, staring at his friend. Hbomb was curled up in a ball, sobbing, seemingly not even seeing him. He dropped down, pulling the smaller man into his arms and petting his hair soothingly. “H, cmon, breathe, nothing’s able to hurt us here,” he soothes, but if possible the other man just starts to shake harder.

False and Ren made it a few moments later, dropping down to sort of surround the shivering man, Ren petting his hair and whispering soothingly to him while False turned to Fruit. “How on earth did you find him?” “Techno let me know. He looked worried.” Ren and Fruit both turn to look at him in confusion but Fruit wasn’t really willing to have a whole discussion about Techno right now, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder as he rocks them slowly.

Slowly, far too slowly, he quiets. Fruit is pretty sure that it’s less that H is feeling better and more that he’s just too exhausted to panic but it’s  _ progress  _ at least _.  _ “Fruit, can you carry him?” Fruit opens his mouth to say yes but Techno’s low voice cuts him off. “Not with that shoulder.” Three sets of eyes, two confused and one incredulous, shoot up to him and he quietly explains “You favored your right arm after parkour, and I saw you try and save a couple of jumps that caused some rough hits, Sensei.” 

Fruit  _ glared,  _ a decision he regretted when Techno’s ears tucked in and he flinched, hard, curling back on himself. Shit. Fruit was gonna have to apologize for that one later. “Techno, can you carry him?” He sighs, and he’s unsurpried when Techno nods, taking a hesitant step forward before flinching back again when False glares. 

“False, please? Techno’s my friend. He won’t hurt him” He promises, and False hesitates but she nods and steps back, lets Techno lift H with practiced ease. “Techno, tell Phil to get out of whatever corner he’s hiding in to make sure we don’t shank you?” Techno blinked; Fruit knew he wasn’t used to being read so easily but he’d been glancing to the side the whole time and Fruit wasn’t his sensei for no reason. 

He wasn’t entirely sure who was holding him. He knew someone was, he could feel the arms that had him tucked securely against someone, fingers scritching over his scalp, and he thinks he must’ve made a sound because the grip tightened a little, unable to focus on whatever someone was saying to him even though he could sort of hear the words washing over him.

Techno slipped through the portal, taking a nervous step back as a person he vaguely recognized as Xisuma appeared before them. Techno was not a coward, ever, but he did actually have a brain and angering an admin on their own world was just a  _ bad  _ plan, so he took a defensive step back, shifting his grip to shield Hbomb, Phil’s wing coming up to block them both.

“Xisuma, stop scaring them” Fruit huffed, sliding past the admin to help Techno ease Hbomb onto the couch before False took charge. “Ren, go make some coco. Fruit, go grab some ice and a healing potion or two. Grian, go take Techno and Phil on a tour; Techno, there’s elytra and rockets by the door.” 

Ren bites back a laugh at how quickly everyone complies, going to make like ten cups of hot chocolate. Fruit curled up on the couch next to H, looking so  _ small  _ that Ren was reminded that he was the youngest out of the group. “H, talk to us.” False’s voice is gentle but firm. “What’s wrong?” 

He doesn’t want to answer. He feels weak like this, exposed and raw and afraid and so  _ tired.  _ “H.” False’s voice is firm and doesn’t give him an option but to lift his head to look at her. “I’m sorry” he sighs. “I...I’m being really dumb.” Fruit makes a quiet noise of protest, leans against his side. “No, H, you’re allowed to be upset without it being silly but we can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.” Ren soothes.

He doesn’t mean to but he’s tired and his head and knee are aching and he’s blurting it out before he can stop himself. “I...I just got scared.” He explains, quietly. “Watching you all with Grian today. It...I didn’t..” He bites his lip, forces the words to come. They deserve an explanation “It felt like he was taking my place.” He hates himself, a little, for saying it, for the way Ren’s face immediately  _ falls.  _

Ren moves, and Hbomb is irrationally afraid he’s going to hit him but, of course, the other man just pulls him into his arms and holds him tightly. “No! I mean, Grian is also our friend; he actually really wants to be friends with you. He's determined to teach you and Fruit to build, but you’re family too, H. I promise.” He shutters, presses his face into Ren’s shoulder.

He’s too tired to cry, as Fruit drapes over him and hugs him tightly and Ren holds them both, Falsie carding a hand through his hair, but it’s a close thing and he’s shaking. “I’m sorry.” Fruit’s voice is  _ worried  _ and H has a need to comfort the younger man but Fruit’s grip on him tightens when he tries to shift. 

By the time Techno, Grian, and Phil get back, Techno pulling off the elytra and the others tucking their wings back, everyone but Fruit is asleep. He’s waiting, sitting on the edge of the couch, and he’s clearly waiting for Techno. Techno hesitates by the door and Fruit beckons him, knowing it’s cheating that the other man will never not listen, will never not be desperate to prove he’s worth teaching.

“Xisuma, Grian, Phil, give us a minute?” They both duck out, and Fruit sighs, turning his attention back to the pig hybrid, who was rubbing his hands nervously against his wrists. He’s more than learned that Techno needs to be addressed straightforwardly, so he just simply says “I’m sorry I was rude before. I was stressed because my friend was hurting, but you’re my friend too and being mean to you wasn’t okay.” Techno stills, eyes darting over his face as if searching for deception and visibly relaxing when he sees none. 

“ ‘s fine” He grunts, sitting down and slowly leaning against Fruit’s legs and, in what the taller man recognizes as a gesture of  _ you’re forgiven,  _ asks quietly “can you redo my braid?” “Sure” Fruit laughs, undoing the fraying braid and starting a new one. He’d learned to braid for Techno, after all, when the stubborn teenager had refused to cut his hair but didn’t like how it would get in the way, and he was more than adept at it now. 

“I saw you used a strategy from the book I gave you for Christmas today.” Fruit  _ grins,  _ nods. “Yeah, I did. The flanking one.” Techno gives a small smile, settling in to let Fruit do a complicated five-strand braid. He glances over at the other couch, where Hbomb is sound asleep sandwiched between Ren and False, and he looks so much more at peace than he had before that Techno and Fruit both relax slightly. 

When Phil, Grian, and Xisuma had finished their very in depth conversation about building techniques and how to keep idiot friends from working themselves to death, they glanced back into the living room. Techno and Fruit were sound asleep, Techno leaning against Fruit’s legs with his head in his lap and the other three curled up on the couch. Phil gives a small smile, flipping off the light and slipping back out of the room. 

“Let ‘em sleep?” He suggests, quietly, and the admin nods. “Want a behind-the-scenes tour?” Grian offers, and Phil  _ smiles,  _ wide and delighted as he spreads his wings and nods eagerly as Xisuma reaches for his elytra and they’re off, leaving the little family sleeping safely behind them.


End file.
